Opening her front door, she felt downright optimistic.
Always a bad start.
A skinhead was spraying her wall, it read:
NAZZI RULES? OK.
He was a young fifteen with badly applied tattoos, the usual Doc Martens and black combat trousers. The spraying stopped and his eyes said run. But even a junior skin couldn’t be seen to run from a woman, especially a black one. He fingered the aerosol nervously and pushed out his chest.
Falls asked, ‘Who’s Nazzi?’
‘What, doncha know?’
‘No.’
‘Like Gestapo and shit, ya know.’
‘Oh, Nazi.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Then you’ve spelt it wrong.’
‘Ya what?’
‘One “z”.’
He looked at his handiwork, unsure as to what she meant. But hey, if confused, attack. The first rule of the urban warrior. ‘So what? Wogs can’t read.’
Falls did the very worst thing. She laughed. The boy didn’t know which was next:
fight
or
flight.
Fighting required the pack and flight was … available. Just.
To add to his turmoil, she smiled, said, ‘Nice chattin’ to you but I’ve got to go.’
‘You gonna report me?’
‘Naw.’
‘Don’t you mind, then, me doin’ yer wall?’
‘Oh I mind, I just don’t mind a whole lot.’
As she headed off, he shouted, ‘Don’t suppose ya got the price of a cup o’ tea?’
And stunned him by giving over some coins. Before he could think he said, ‘Jeez, thanks a lot missus.’
She said, ‘Why not skip the tea and buy a dictionary?’
Part of him wanted to roar, ‘I can spell cunt.’
But he couldn’t bring himself to. As he watched her go, he had his first mature observation.
‘She’s got some moves.’
Ticket to ride
As Fenton’s flight levelled out over Heathrow, he unbuckled the seat belt and stretched his legs. A flight for New York was further delayed due to a missing passenger. Later, he’d be found in the toilet booth, both halves of his torn ticket protruding from his arse.
The passenger next to Fenton reached out his hand, said, ‘Hi guy, I’m Skip.’
Fenton said, ‘You’re kidding!’ and thought, ‘Lemme see … like, nine hours beside this wanker … Jesus!’
Unperturbed, the man said, ‘I’m in software out of Illinois. How do you guys stick that damp climate?’
Fenton straightened up, looked the man in both eyes, said, ‘Skip it.’
Barney is a dinosaur from our imagination
Bill remembered his old man. The last time he saw him he’d gone to meet him in a pub at Stockwell. The old man was a cap in hand merchant. Sitting at the counter, the cap on the stool beside him, he was nursing a small whiskey.
Bill was on his uppers, flush with the takings from a series of post offices. He said, ‘Dad, what can I get you?’
‘I’m drinking on the clock, son.’
Bill knew about ‘drinking on the slate’. You didn’t grow up in Peckham without learning that and fast. ‘What?’
‘I’ve enough for three drinks — if I make each last an hour, I’ll be up to lunchtime.’
‘Jeez, here … Bill laid a wedge on the bar. The old man never even glanced at it said, ‘Give it to yer Mother.’
‘Fuck her.’
And his father turned, eyes flashing, hand raised. Not clenched, but definitely ready. ‘Don’t you curse her. Mum, she had it hard.’
‘She legged it, didn’t she?’
His father sighed. ‘Go away son, I can’t watch right with you here.’
Yeah.
When his old man was being planted, Bill was standing over the grave and threw a wrist watch in after the box. ‘Clock that.’
Bill was musing on this as his daughter played along the Embankment. Every Thursday they came there, he’d sit on the bench and she’d stand watching the cruise boats. Nothing gave her as much joy.
When he’d asked why, she said, ‘Cos boats make people happy.’
Argue that.
Her having Down’s syndrome meant she had an extra chromosome. Or, as he now believed, normal people had one missing. Whatever. She meant so much to him it hurt. He’d always said: ‘Hope I never have a daughter’, because he knew she’d make him vulnerable and that was the one thing he couldn’t be. Now here she was, and left him with an Achilles heel. But it was worth it for all his worry — she lit up his life like nothing ever had. And lit it more every passing day. If having a child changes you, having a child with Down’s syndrome changes you entirely.
Thus preoccupied he’d taken his eyes off his daughter. Then snapped back and turned to see her.
No Chelsea.
Heart pounding, he jumped to his feet, heard, ‘Hey asshole, this way.’
Turned to see Brant holding the girl in his arms, dangerously close to the high bar of the Embankment.
Brant held out one hand, a furry toy hanging loose. ‘I got Barney for her, seems to work.’ Bill took a step forward and Brant cautioned, ‘I wouldn’t do that boyo; you don’t want to startle a dinosaur — they’re unpredictable.’
Bill tried to keep calm. Brant was one crazy fucker, built a rep on it. Looked round, not a sign of his bloody minders, asked, ‘What do you want, Brant?’
‘Fenton.’
‘He’s gone to San Francisco.’
‘Bit of a holiday, is it?’
‘He’s tracking his ex-wife.’
Brant swung the little girl up above the railing, the dinosaur held against her. ‘See Bill, I want you to know how easy it is to touch you. You stay the hell away from me, everything’s hunky-dory.’
‘I hear what you’re saying.’
‘I wonder, Bill. I wonder if you do. Perhaps a demonstration … And he let go. The purple dinosaur tumbled down, its small head bounced off the bottom bar, then it rolled on the concrete before it slid into the water.
It sank quickly.
‘Jesus,’ breathed Bill.
Brant let the girl down and nodded towards the water. ‘Just wasn’t getting the ratings anymore.’
The girl ran to her father and wrapped her arms round him, cried, ‘Dad, Barney’s gone.’
‘It’s OK, sweetheart, it’s OK …
Brant started to move away, not hurried but measured. ‘See how it goes, Bill? Dinos are past their sell-by date.’
On break the 12th lament
Falls read the words aloud.
‘Her evocation then of all that mystery allures’
She hadn’t one clue what it meant but never-no-mind — she adored it. In the canteen with her friend Rosie, she asked, ‘Do you know what it means?’
‘Not a clue.’
‘Me neither.’
‘But it sounds kinda, I dunno … sexy.’
Falls looked down then said, ‘I always wished I’d have them boobs that jiggle, you know — if you’re running, they’d hop up ’n’ down.’
Rosie, who was more than endowed, shook her head. ‘No you don’t … believe me.’
‘Men prefer big boobs.’
‘Men are pigs.’
And they laughed. Falls got serious and said, ‘Rosie, I’m worried.’
‘What, that men are pigs?’
‘No … I’ve been sick three mornings …
Rosie shrieked, ‘Oh God, are you …?’
Falls shushed her quick, said, ‘Jeez, keep it down!’
‘You’re telling the wrong person, me girl.’
And they got the serial giggles. Lots of the cops glared. If there was laughing to be done, the men would do it.
Rosie lowered her voice. ‘You’ve got to find out.’
‘Oh God, I can’t!’
‘Get one of those do-it-yourself tests from Boots.’
Further speculation was halted as the duty sergeant put his head round the door and shouted: ‘We’ve got a would-be rapist shot!’ A cheer went up. ‘Oi, that’s enough of that. I need two WPCs … c’mon, snap to it.’
As they headed out Falls said, ‘Leastways if I am I’ll get decent boobs.’