by Bali Rai
I shrugged. ‘I was hopin’ that you’d forget about that,’ I said.
‘Fat chance.’
I grinned at him as he shifted in his favourite chair, holding tightly onto his bottle of Becks. The bottle sat on his belly, which looked as though it had been stuck on as an extra. The rest of him was all long and skinny.
‘Well, you is fat so there’s a bit of a chance—’
‘You cheeky little shit – I should tan your backside for skipping school.’
‘We weren’t really bunking off – it was a free period,’ I told him, hoping that he’d fall for it.
‘Wass one of them then? Di’n’t have them in my day.’
‘Yeah, and you didn’t have computers or mobiles – or shoes,’ I said, taking the piss.
‘Or big mouths that could get stuffed with my socks,’ he threatened.
‘Sorry, Homer …’
‘I should tell Mikey about it too,’ he told me – Mikey was Dean’s dad – his best mate.
‘Nah! You can’t do that – that’s grassin’.’
‘You gotta go to school, David – them’s the rules, boy.’
‘But—’
‘But nothing. You think me and Mikey sweat in that shithole factory all week just to watch our kids fuck up like we did?’
I was ready with a smart reply but I wasn’t expecting him to say what he did. Not the swearing – he swore all the time. More the stuff about messing up and not wanting me to do the same. I’d always thought that he was happy with his life and I wanted to know if I was wrong. So I asked him.
‘It’s just an expression,’ he told me. ‘I meant that we want the best for our kids and that means getting an education – doing the stuff we never did.’
I looked at him, puzzled. ‘Like what?’ I asked.
‘University and travel and learning because you want to; not because some old git in a suit is telling you to.’
‘But you and Mum are always travelling,’ I reminded him.
‘Not just holidays, David – I’m talking about discovering things and stuff …’
And with that he went off on one, talking about the great things that he wanted to see before he died, like the big rock in the middle of Australia, which I told him was called Uluru, and the statues on Easter Island. I listened to him for a bit, got him two more beers and then went to call Dean to see if he fancied going out for a bit. When I went back into the living room with my jacket, my old man was snoring.
Dean told me to meet him down on Evington Road, by a fried chicken shop, and when I got there he was scoffing a portion of hot wings, getting the grease all over his face.
‘Yussusus!’ he mumbled through a mouthful of food.
‘Easy …’
He swallowed his mouthful and grinned at me. ‘My man knows how to make chicken,’ he told me. ‘Hot!’
‘Yeah, he knows how to make money too,’ I replied. ‘He’s opened about ten shops in a year or summat.’
‘Can’t argue with that if the food is good,’ Dean said.
‘What we doin’ anyway?’ I asked him.
He shrugged. ‘How ’bout we go check out the community centre?’ he suggested.
‘Yeah – and I can kick yer ass at table tennis again,’ I said.
‘Res’ yuhself! That was a lucky win, bro.’
‘Yeah – if you say so.’
I heard an engine roar and turned to see a Subaru Impreza burn up the road and jump a red light.
‘Knobs …’ said Dean, screwing up the empty box of chicken and throwing it in the general direction of a bin. The box bounced off, landing in the road, next to the wheel of a 3 Series BMW.
‘Three points!’ he said, opening a freshen-up tissue and wiping his hands.
I looked at my mate and shook my head. ‘Messy shit …’
Dean shrugged and set off for the community centre, the tissue following the flight path of the box and ending up next to it.
The community centre was pretty empty apart from a couple of groups of lads and three girls who were always there. The table tennis table was free and we picked up the paddles, found a ball that wasn’t too knackered and started to play. Only I wasn’t really paying attention to the ball. I noticed that some of the youths were from our school. One of the group, Pally, was an old friend of mine from infant school, and I told Dean that I was going to talk to him. Dean shrugged and went over to the girls, who were sitting near a coffee machine, chatting.
‘Easy, Pally,’ I said. He was wearing really tight blue jeans and massive Nike Shox with a hooded top and stood about an inch shorter than me – five foot eight, maybe.
‘David – wass up, bro?’ he replied, extending a fist for me to touch.
‘Usual – what happened with that fight?’
‘The one up by school?’ he asked.
I wondered which other fights he’d been in and said yes.
‘Been comin’ a while, that one,’ he told me. ‘Too much shit goin’ on with that Rajinder Mann and them black lads from City …’
‘What kind of shit?’ I asked.
‘He got into it with some lad from City. All came from that,’ replied Pally.
‘Just one argument?’
Pally shook his head. ‘Nah – there was a few things. One of them kaleh tried it on with Raji’s cousin’s sister and Raji got upset …’
‘Over a bit of flirtin’?’
Pally gave me a funny look, like I’d asked him to show me his arse or something. ‘Can’t have that,’ he said. ‘Raji di’n’t want no kalah fuckin’ wid his family …’
‘So Raji started it just ’cos the bloke was black?’ I asked, ignoring Pally’s casual racism. He wasn’t the only Asian lad who was like that and I couldn’t fight them all. At least not right then.
‘Prob’ly …’ replied Pally.
‘The papers said it was purely racial …’
Pally shrugged. ‘It was Desi Posse versus the rest, bro. Them papers just chat shit anyway. I know for a fact there was Asian lads from City wit’ dem kaleh.’
I shook my head. ‘Sounds messed up to me,’ I said.
‘Too right, bro. And there’s more comin’ – believe me. Raji and two other lads got kicked out of school. One of ’em is goin’ down for stabbin’ that teacher—’
‘Who?’ I asked.
‘Raji’s cousin. Divy Mann …’
‘The man with the streak in his hair?’
‘The same one, bro.’
I looked over at Dean, who was busy chatting up one of the girls.
‘You best watch it an’ all,’ Pally told me.
I gave him a funny look. ‘What’s it gotta do with me?’ I asked.
‘It’s comin’ like an “us and dem” t’ing – you get me?’
I shook my head and said no.
‘Yer man there – Dean. Now I ain’t got nuttin’ against him – he’s OK with me; but the Desi are goin’ after that other gang an’ if they see you with a nex’ kalah, they might get vex an’ that …’
‘Not my problem,’ I told him. ‘They mess with Dean –they got me to deal with too.’
Pally nodded as though I’d explained something really complicated to him. ‘I’m just sayin’, that’s all,’ he said. ‘Like I said – Dean is fine with me …’
I gave him another funny look. ‘But …?’
‘But if it do come down to “us and dem” I’m with “us” …’ he said.
I left it at that and went over to Dean. He was keying the girl’s number into his phone.
‘Come on, bro – let’s do one,’ I said.
‘Just comin’,’ Dean replied, before speaking to the girl, whose name was Leanne. ‘I’ll call you,’ he told her.
‘You better, Dean – that’s the third time I’ve given you my number. Ain’t gonna be a nex’ time …’
‘No worries,’ he said, grinning.
Then he turned and followed me outside, where I told him what I’d learned from Pally. The wind had picke
d up and as we walked back home, Dean pulled his hood over his head and tightened it.
‘Does that bother you?’ he asked me.
‘What?’
‘That whole Asian versus black bullshit t’ing?’
I shook my head. ‘I ain’t into that,’ I told him, although he already knew that.
‘And it don’t bother me neither,’ he said. ‘So fuck them, bwoi …’
‘You’re right,’ I said.
‘If they wanna mash themselves up ’cos one a dem Asian and the other one black – let ’em. Best we just stay well clear, you get me?’
‘True.’
‘Unless they wanna tes’,’ he said with a smile.
‘And then what?’ I asked, although this time it was me who already knew the answer.
‘Then we watch each other’s back – same as always, bro …’
I nodded and pulled up my own hood, as the wind started to howl like a hungry wolf all around us.
SUKY MANN AND SATNAM GILL
SATNAM WATCHED HIS cousin David run after the football before turning to Suky.
‘He’s fast, man,’ he said.
‘Yeah – though I should still be playin’,’ Suky replied, picking at the grass they were sitting on.
‘You would have been if you’d turned up for practice,’ Satnam pointed out.
‘Couldn’t be done, bro. I was round my cousin Divy’s house – he’s gettin’ sent down …’
Satnam looked at Suky and raised an eyebrow. ‘For what?’ he asked.
‘Some shit at school – got into it with a load of lads from a nex’ school.’
Satnam nodded his head. ‘He the one that stabbed that teacher?’ he asked.
Suky nodded. ‘Yeah, but it weren’t his fault. They were fightin’ a load of kaleh when it happened.’
‘I heard about it,’ replied Satnam. ‘My bro,’ he continued, nodding in David’s direction, ‘he goes there an’ all.’
‘He’s the one that knocks around with that big nigger, in’t he?’ asked Suky, before spitting.
‘Yeah – best mate or summat,’ admitted Satnam.
‘He wants to be careful. Them kaleh look after their own when it comes down to it, you get me?’
‘We told him that ’nuff times,’ replied Satnam.
‘There’s gonna be more trouble. My other cousin, Raji, got kicked out of school too and that man is nuts.’
Satnam heard a shout go up and turned his attention back to the game. He saw his brother Parmjit arguing with some white lad, before the referee calmed them down and awarded a free kick in the white lad’s favour.
‘Bias!’ he shouted, as the kick was taken. ‘See how you help yer own kind, ref!’
‘Cheatin’ bastard,’ added Suky, agreeing with his team mate, even though he hadn’t seen the incident.
They watched the game for a few more minutes before Suky spoke again.
‘Anyways, like I said before – it’s gonna kick off with them black lads and my cousin, and when that happens you wanna make sure David backs his own side.’
‘Anyone touches my family …’warned Satnam.
‘I’m just sayin’ – that’s all,’ replied Suky. ‘Ain’t right for him to be takin’ their side.’
Satnam nodded. ‘I’ll have a word, but he’s still family …’
‘When it comes down to Desi versus the rest, bro, we’s all family,’ said Suky.
‘Can’t argue with that,’ said Satnam, nodding again. ‘I’ll speak to him.’
SIMRAN
I SPENT THE whole of the following week trying to ignore Tyrone’s text messages but he wouldn’t take no for an answer, and when I made the mistake of replying, it just made him more eager. Luckily I didn’t see him at all during the week because I’m not sure I would have been able to fool him face to face. I would have been saying no when everything about my expression and body language would have been saying yes. And I’m sure he would have seen straight through it all. Or pretended to at least.
Lisa just laughed at me every time Tyrone’s name came up. And by the time we were heading into town on the bus the following Saturday, she was urging me to call him.
‘Go on!’ she insisted, as the bus hit a pothole.
‘They should sort the bloody roads out – I think I’ve got whiplash,’ I said.
‘Don’t ignore me, you cow – just call the poor lad and put him out of his misery. What you’re doing is cruel,’ she added.
‘Cruel?’
‘Yeah – like tying a tortoise to a treadmill and turning up the speed.’
I gave her a look that told her I thought she was mad. ‘A tortoise – to a treadmill?’ I asked, grinning.
‘Oh – you know what I mean,’ said Lisa.
‘Er … no, actually, I don’t think that I do.’
‘Oooh – check out Miss Fancy Knickers and her perfect English!’
‘You what?’
Lisa grinned at me. ‘Just ask the boy out,’ she said, completing a circle back to where she had started, but leaving me confused, and still wondering why anyone would do that to a tortoise and what was so fancy about my accent.
‘You’re just bloody strange …’ I told her.
‘Yep!’
A couple of lads got on the bus and Lisa swore.
‘What’s up?’ I asked.
‘See that tall one?’ she whispered.
‘Yeah?’ I whispered back.
‘Got off with him.’
‘So what?’ I asked.
‘Threw up on him at a party.’
‘And …?’
‘We were kissing, and he had his hands everywhere and I was really drunk,’ she whispered. ‘Anyway, he got his thing out and when I saw it I threw up all down him.’
‘Lisa!’ I shouted. The dirty cow.
‘Sssshhh!’
The tall lad looked over his shoulder at us, shook his head and then returned to his conversation.
‘See?’ I told her. ‘Like he even gives a shit.’
‘But—’ she began.
‘But nothing, young lady. I think it’s time you told me some more about what you get up to when I’m not around,’ I said.
‘You were there – it was that party for Joss – the weirdo girl with the big hooters and the massive house—’
‘Big hooters?’ I asked, disgusted.
‘Yeah – you know – breasts …?’ said Lisa, like she was explaining to a very stupid child.
‘I know what you meant … it’s just you sounded like some lad. Hooters is a horrible word,’ I complained.
‘Oh, shut up – that’s what my dad calls them and I kind of like the word. It’s better than tits.’
‘Strange,’ I replied. ‘You. Very. Strange.’
‘Anyways – we were at this party, you and me—’
‘I,’ I corrected.
‘Huh?’
‘You and I were at this party,’ I continued.
‘Exactly what I said, you and me was at this party—’
‘But—’ I began.
‘Oh shut up, you slag, and listen,’ snapped Lisa.
‘I’m the slag? Who threw up when she saw tall boy’s joystick?’ I asked.
‘Joystick? Joystick?’
‘Er …’ I began, realizing that it was a silly way to describe a willy.
‘And you think hooters is a silly word – man, you’re tapped,’ Lisa said.
‘Just get on with the story, will you? Jesus, we’ll be in town before you’ve finished.’ I looked out of the window as I spoke, realizing that we were in town already.
She told me the rest of it as we got off the bus and walked down towards the clock tower, in a really loud voice so that people could hear what she was on about.
I didn’t see Tyrone in town either, which was a bit strange because he was normally knocking around in The Shires shopping centre with his mates. But I didn’t think too much of it, especially when later he sent me three texts within five minutes, begging me to go
out with him and telling me that if I didn’t he would fail at school because he couldn’t concentrate on his work. His descent into unemployment, drug abuse and even prostitution would then be my fault, he said. I laughed to myself as I stood in the kitchen at home, watching my mum make a curry.
‘What you laughing at?’ she asked me.
‘Oh nothing –just this girl I know,’ I said slyly. ‘She’s got this lad on her case but she doesn’t know whether she should go out with him or not.’
My mum started to chop up an onion, so quickly that I thought she would cut off a finger by mistake. She was good with a knife, she always said, which was one of the reasons why my dad was nice to her. She didn’t offer a reply to what I’d just said though, so I pushed it some more.
‘The lad is black and she’s Punjabi,’ I added, hoping to get her attention. I did.
She looked at me and shrugged. ‘That could be a sticking point,’ she said.
‘Why?’ I asked, adding layers to my sly-cake. Bit by bit.
‘Well – depends on what her parents are like …’ she told me.
‘You mean – if they’re prejudiced?’
‘Yeah, that too – but mainly if they’re like a traditional Punjabi family.’
She wiped the blade of the knife on a piece of kitchen towel and started to chop up some garlic too.
‘How’d you mean?’ I asked. Sly-cake was now a good few tiers and growing.
‘A lot of Punjabis want their kids to marry their own kind … it’s not exactly racist –just one of those things.’
‘So black boys are out of bounds then?’
She shook her head. ‘Not for everyone – I told you: depends on the family. But it would cause problems, I reckon.’
I frowned. It wasn’t the answer I’d been hoping for. I’d been hoping that she would tell me something similar to what Lisa had said about not worrying about race and all that rubbish. To tell you the truth, I was a bit shocked because my mum is normally very liberal. She must have read my mind because she tried to explain herself.
‘I mean,’ she said, ‘I think that people should forget about the whole race and culture thing. But that’s quite a naïve attitude because differences between races still cause problems.’
‘But—’ I began, only for my mum to cut me off.