Brenton Brown

by Alex Wheatle

  ‘Oh God!’ Jazz screamed as she saw Malakai. ‘Oh God! Please somebody. Somebody. Oh Jesus Christ. Oh fucking Lord!’

  Somebody took hold of Jazz. They took her away. Breanna held onto Malakai’s head. Her vision was blurred with tears but she heard people moving around her. She lost all sense of time. She heard sirens. The next thing she remembered was someone helping her to her feet. She couldn’t recall if it was a policeman or a paramedic. Then these policemen in strange white jumpsuits, medical gloves and face masks arrived. She watched them from a police car and it occurred to her that they looked like they were dressed for skiing. She recalled the opening credits of a James Bond film. What was it? She asked herself. The Living Daylights? No, don’t think so. The Spy Who Loved Me? Can’t fucking remember. I know Roger Moore was in it. Malakai could’ve been an actor. Yeah, why not? He could’ve been James Bond.

  Clapham Park Road was cordoned off with police tape. The men in the white jumpsuits were on their knees on the pavement. In their hands, Breanna noticed, were little brushes. I never asked Malakai if he could paint, thought Breanna. He had nice, delicate hands. Tender. So maybe he could’ve been a good painter. Or a good designer. Maybe he could have drawn a portrait of me? That would’ve been so nice. Blatantly. He could’ve used his hands to massage me on holiday, hold my face, make love to me. Yeah, on one of those Greek islands. ‘With a roof right over our head, we’ll share the shelter, of my single bed …’

  Chapter 20

  Apology Not Accepted

  Eleven days later

  SITTING IN FRONT OF HER MIRROR, Breanna stared blankly into it. The memory of Malakai’s coffin being lowered into the ground was still fresh. So was the smell of dried earth. The silence of Malakai’s mother and her harsh gaze were impossible to erase from her mind. Also hard to forget was the endless black. Hats, suits, ties, skirts, shoes and even gloves. Malakai never dressed in black, she recalled. He liked bright colours, living colours.

  All those fake smiles, Breanna reflected. People being nice to me, people being nice to Malakai’s mum. I wonder how long that will last. I overheard one woman whispering how Malakai’s mum is a benefit queen and this was coming to her because she was a rubbish mother. People always act at funerals. It was all so unreal. So fucking unfair. Does God just take all the good ones early and let the bad ones live out their selfish lives here? Does he take the good ones away so the rest of us try and struggle to be as good as them? But God knows we can’t be like them so he lets us live. And all of us left living know we can never be as good as the good ones that He takes away from us. Hell isn’t somewhere where bad people go to when they die. Hell is here. Hell is trying to deal with someone taken away who you’ve grown to love. Fucking bastards! I don’t care what the fuck the churchman said about a compassionate God and Malakai is in His arms now. Fuck that! He took away my Malakai.

  ‘It wasn’t your time,’ she whispered. ‘It just wasn’t your time. But God still took you anyway. That fucking cruel God took you anyway. You fucked up big time!’

  Why? She thought again. What fucking idiot just fires into a crowd? Doesn’t he respect life at all? Why couldn’t the fucking killer wait to get Sean on his own? Don’t these fucking people have a brain? Don’t they think? He probably thinks he’s so bad now. I’m the man! he’s probably saying to himself. He’s probably boasting to his crew right now. Probably waiting for next Friday so he can read about himself in the South London Press. He’s probably writing about it on his fucking MySpace page. I bet he’s got a pic of him on his site doing some bullshit macho pose. What is wrong with these idiots? Don’t they have parents who bring them up right? His bredrens are probably saying, yeah, you’re a soldier. A fucking soldier! Is that all they live for? To be called a soldier by their wasteman crew? Don’t these people have a fucking conscience? They shot the wrong man! They know it! But don’t want to talk. Don’t want to come forward to the police or even make an anonymous phone call. Fucking cowards they are. Cowards! Fuck them! Fuck them all! I swear if I had a gun myself. I swear! I’d kill all the wastemen out there. Kill them all.

  Tears ran down Breanna’s face. They weren’t tears of loss. Tears of anger. Why? she repeated in her mind. Some childish fucking feud probably. Sean talked so they just have to try and kill him. They’d do anything to keep up their badmen status. So fucking childish. Why? They make me sick. They all make me sick. Protecting their ends, protecting their hoods, protecting their soldiers! Fuck them! All of them!

  There was a knock on the bedroom door.

  ‘Who is it?’ asked Breanna.

  ‘It’s Mum, Breanna. Can I come in?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Juliet entered the bedroom. She paused and looked at her daughter before embracing her. ‘You OK?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, Mum,’ replied Breanna without turning around.

  ‘Sean is downstairs to see you,’ Juliet revealed. ‘He’s there with a couple of police officers. He’s under protection. He said he has to talk to you. I told him I’d have to ask you first. You don’t have to if you don’t want to.’

  Still gazing at her reflection in the mirror, Breanna calmly replied, ‘Yeah, I’ll see him. I’ll be down in a sec.’

  Juliet wiped away Breanna’s tears with her right hand. She then held her shoulders, gave her a look that mothers reserve for their children and hugged her. ‘You sure?’

  ‘I’m sure, Mum.’

  Breanna paused at the top of the stairs. ‘Mum, hold up.’

  ‘What is it, Breanna?’

  ‘Just want to say thank you.’

  ‘That’s alright, Breanna.’

  ‘No, seriously,’ said Breanna. ‘You’ve been brilliant. Helping with the funeral, talking to the police, preparing that statement for them and even helping with that BBC London thing. You were brilliant, Mum. Malakai’s mum is so grateful.’

  ‘Yes, she thanked me,’ said Juliet.

  ‘She wasn’t in no state to talk to those news people,’ said Breanna. ‘Nor was I. Thanks for looking after all that … I just hope someone comes forward soon.’

  ‘Come on, Breanna,’ smiled Juliet. ‘Sean is waiting. He’s suffered a terrible loss too. Be gentle.’

  Breanna’s gaze hardened and she squeezed her left thumb.

  Juliet led Breanna down to the lounge. Clayton was making cups of tea for the police officers in the kitchen. Sean was sitting in an armchair. He was nervously rubbing his hands together and he couldn’t keep his feet still. His eyes were shifting. He was playing about with his mobile phone. When he saw Breanna he stood up. ‘Do you …?’ Juliet offered, ‘do you want me to give you some privacy?’

  ‘No, Mum,’ Breanna answered calmly. She looked at Sean. ‘Sit down.’

  ‘I’m really sorry,’ said Sean, shaking his head. ‘So sorry.’

  His eyes were reddened from anxiety and exhaustion. Breanna guessed he had hardly slept since that … when greedy God took Malakai away. Sean looks like a little boy lost, she observed. Pathetic! Look at him all nervous. He can hardly stand up. Fucking wasteman! What’s he doing here? If he thinks he can just say sorry then he’s got something coming to him.

  ‘Can I get you a drink?’ offered Breanna. ‘Sit down, man. I’m not the queen.’

  ‘No, no,’ said Sean taking his seat again. ‘I … I don’t wanna drink. I just wanted to see you. Tell you how I’m sorry. Trust! Malakai was one of the good ones. Much better man than me. I was well lucky to have him as a bredren. Trust! He was always telling me I must fix up. I know you’re probably blaming me but …’

  ‘Yes,’ Breanna interrupted. ‘He was a much better man than you.’

  Juliet glanced at Breanna and could hardly comprehend how she seemed so composed and in control of herself.

  ‘Yes, I am blaming you,’ continued Breanna. She folded her arms and glanced at her mother. She then began to walk around the room. Sean’s eyes followed her. He started to rub his hands again. The polite conversation drifting over from the kitchen p
aused.

  ‘Me and Malakai talked about you a lot,’ said Breanna, now glaring at Sean. ‘Yeah, we talked about everything. We talked about how you wanted to start shotting weed. How you wanted to be a badman. How you wanted respect from man on road …’

  ‘Breanna, is this the right …’ Juliet butted in.

  ‘He needs to hear this, Mum,’ Breanna said, still staring at Sean. ‘But Malakai knew you. He said you were always fronting up, pretending you’re this and that but you couldn’t be a badman ’cos deep inside you don’t have manness inside you. Manness, yes, Malakai’s word. He was good at making up new words. He could’ve been a writer. He could’ve been anything … He told me how you would always run away from fights. Yeah, manness. Malakai had that. He had a shit upbringing just like you. But he didn’t want to be no badman. He didn’t want to be part of some fucked-up crew that traded in showing how bad they were. He didn’t want to be no fucking soldier. He was man enough to try something different. Man enough to do something positive with his plumbing training and stuff. But you …’

  ‘But Bree if I can just …’

  ‘Shut the fuck up and listen!’ Breanna raised her voice. Juliet was about to say something but decided not to. Clayton entered the room with half a mug of tea. He stood in the doorway and looked at Breanna. She didn’t notice him.

  ‘And he wasn’t wrong, was he?’ Breanna added. ‘Malakai tried to protect us and you ran. Before that you even put Jazz in front of you. What were you thinking? That some stinking wasteman with a gun would give a shit about shooting women? They don’t give a fuck who they shoot. You should know, you’re always around wastemen on road and want their respect.’

  ‘I’m, I’m not,’ Sean stuttered. ‘T-trust!’

  ‘No manness,’ affirmed Breanna. ‘Listen good, Sean, ’cos after this I don’t want to see your backside again … you’re a walking stereotype. A wasteman. You’re nothing. You ain’t going no place and you ain’t going nowhere. You give positive young black guys like Malakai a bad name. You haven’t got anything to offer the world, no ambition, no thinking of trying to make yourself better. Nothing! You’re fuck all!’

  ‘Breanna!’ Juliet remonstrated.

  Breanna ignored her. Clayton glanced from Juliet to Breanna.

  ‘The only thing you have to offer is to show your crew how bad you are. Show them how street you are. Show them how much of a fucking soldier you are. That’s all you live for, innit? To get your respect from other wasteman on road. And at the end of the day, you couldn’t even get that. That’s why they tried to kill you. I saw for myself. You’re a mouse. You’re a fucking coward! They should throw yellow paint on your backside wherever you go or mark it on your forehead with that stuff that doesn’t come off.’

  ‘But, Bree …’

  ‘Don’t even call my name!’ shouted Breanna. ‘And don’t even try to call Jazz. She don’t want to see you again either. If you try texting her or even messaging her on Hotmail I will fuck you up myself! And trust me, I mean that!’

  Clayton’s eyes widened. Juliet’s mouth opened.

  ‘You’re nothing,’ added Breanna. Her eyes were now full of tears. She swabbed her face and continued. ‘You wanted to come here, didn’t you? Tell me you’re all sorry. Tell me you’re suffering. That way you won’t feel so guilty. And it’ll be no problem, you probably thought. Not from Bree. She’s just Malakai’s stush girlfriend. Nice laid-back Bree! She talks all nice and she comes from a decent family. She’ll understand. She’ll know how sorry I am. She’ll forgive everything. Yeah, Malakai told me how you thought I was stush and stuck up. Didn’t quite go to plan, did it? So, Sean, I want you to take your backside off my mum’s armchair AND GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!’

  Turning her back on Sean, Breanna marched out of the room and stomped her way upstairs. Clayton and Juliet exchanged glances. Sean dropped his head.

  ‘I’ll … I’ll see if she’s OK,’ said Clayton.

  Clayton followed Breanna. Juliet sat down opposite Sean as he covered his face with his hands. He started to sob.

  ‘I’m, I’m really sorry, Mrs Hylton … I didn’t mean any of this to happen. Trust! Seriously I didn’t …’

  ‘I know,’ said Juliet. ‘But you can still help Breanna and Malakai.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘By trying to think who did this to Malakai.’

  ‘I’ve been trying, Mrs Hylton. He was wearing a mask. He didn’t say anything.’

  ‘You must try,’ insisted Juliet. ‘Maybe there was something familiar about his body shape?’

  ‘I … I don’t know,’ said Sean. He was still covering his face with his hands.

  ‘Sean,’ Juliet said softly. ‘Malakai’s dead. You saw at the funeral how much that affected and still affects his family and friends. You must try.’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  ‘OK then,’ nodded Juliet. ‘I’ll see you out.’

  ‘There’s just one more thing, Mrs Hylton,’ said Sean, now taking his hands away from his face.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I wanna change myself. Learn something. Trust! Get a job. I know you’ve got a brother who’s a builder, right?’

  ‘Yes, Brenton.’

  ‘I just wanna learn, you know, pick things up. I don’t mind if it’s just a few hours a week. I don’t mind if I’m just sweeping up and stuff …’

  ‘OK, Sean,’ Juliet nodded. ‘I’ll let him know.’

  Sean stood up. ‘Tell Bree I’m sorry … really sorry. I know it’s all my …’

  ‘Just give her time,’ Juliet said. ‘Right now she’s crushed. I really don’t know how long it’ll take her to get over it. We’ll all have to help her through it.’

  The two police officers were waiting in the hallway and one of them went outside first to check that everything was safe. When he gave the all-clear, Sean was quickly bundled into the police car. With her arms folded, Juliet watched until the car had disappeared from view. She then went inside and thought it best if Breanna spent a little time with Clayton. It’ll be good for their relationship if Clayton can help her get over all this. But Christ! she thought. She has Brenton’s cold temper. The way her eyes bored into him! I thought the poor boy was going to shrink. She’ll never be the same. How is she going to come out the other side of all this?

  Chapter 21

  Shadow of the Past

  Three weeks later

  WALKING ALONG ENDYMION ROAD that led off Brixton Hill, Sean admired the houses on the street as he checked the numbers. He also looked inside the interior of a 4x4 Honda and was impressed. ‘If my paps never died my fam coulda lived in a street like this,’ he whispered to himself. ‘Yeah, Mum woulda liked living here. She might’ve been driving a car like this listening to her old-school soul.’

  The short rain shower had stopped but daylight was fading. High above, a plane, blinking red, disappeared above a roof of grey cloud. There was an event at the nearby church but Sean didn’t notice the people congregating about the entrance of the building. He felt sweaty in his thin anorak and he shook off his hood. He wiped his forehead. He paid no attention to the barking of a Rottweiler dog across the road that was being led by a young white guy.

  He finally arrived at the number he was looking for. He pressed the intercom buzzer for the top flat. He slipped his hand inside his anorak and felt the bread knife he had taken from his mother’s kitchen. He wiped his forehead again then let out a sigh. He tried to compose himself and control his breathing. ‘You can do this, Sean,’ he said to himself. ‘You ain’t no fucking coward. I’m as brave as a next man. Don’t care what Breanna or what Malakai used to say. You can do this. Trust!’

  ‘Is that you, Sean?’ said Brenton through the crackly intercom.

  ‘Yes, bredren,’ Sean answered. ‘It’s me.’

  There was another buzzing sound and Sean pushed the door open. He wiped his feet on the doormat inside, palmed away the sweat that was building on his temples and exhaled. He felt for his knife
again before he set off climbing five flights of carpeted stairs. He reached Brenton’s front door and found it open. He paused before entering. He slowed his breathing. He closed his eyes for a short second before taking a stride inside.