by Jules Grant
I’m not kidding but that’s got to be against some rule I reckon, some human rule so there’s got to be a Court for that, somewhere. Then I’m looking right at her, smiling, because now I can hear myself, dressed up all Judge Judy, sparkly earrings and that black cape, going Right You, you can’t just Stop someone going to the Toilet when they Need, and now you’re going to Prison for it Lady, for Life. So then The Wiz will be locked up like me Da and her hair will most likely go white overnight like in that film, and it just serves her right.
Yeah OK Miss, whatever.
Ten minutes later we’re all in the yard for break, freezing our keks off. Geet’s Dad says they make us stand outside in the snow for fresh air, but I know we’re just being wronged when we’ve done nothing bad. It’s A-Matter-of-Control Donna says, and the way I see it there’s loads of those in our school. Mam always says I get me brains from her, but I know I gets them from Donna because she’s about the cleverest person I know.
I’m just working up to giving that Sunita Clegg a proper battering, get myself warm. I don’t have do it straight away, because everyone knows I’ve said it and they’re waiting. Most times when someone needs sorting I let them wait, and then other times I trick them, don’t do it at all. That’s the clever bit, see? The waiting gets them worse than if I just went right up and did it, straight off the bat. I’m not telling you who taught me that, on account of not being a grass.
Let’s just wag it, goes Geeta.
Hey I’m on it, I says. And it just serves Mam right.
Half-eleven and we’re snug-as-two-bugs in the Arndale, squatting down behind the fountain on account of security. You can spot those plastic yellow waistcoats a mile off, it’s mad. If I was the boss of the Arndale Centre I’d do away with the waistcoats straight off. How they’re ever going to catch anyone in those things is way beyond me.
Let’s go yours then, says Geet.
I can’t let on to Geet but the actual thing is, Mam’d throw a hissy if she even thought I was wagging it. Which is a laugh, seeing how she didn’t hardly go to school ever, at least from what Nan used to say. Then again, I suppose one of us got to be able to read.
I’m pretty good when it comes to reading, even though The Wiz does her best to put me off, sending me out half the time to stand by the door, fucking me up in geography so I got to batter someone and get sent to the head. I got a reading age of fourteen The Wiz told Mam no kidding, and that’s way best in the class. Not bad for someone just gone ten. And I’m top except for Geet, but that’s because her Dad makes her sit at the table, does stuff with her every night, two hours after tea and no messing about, which is about the worst thing I can think of. I’m lucky, being how me Dad doesn’t want owt to do with me and Mam anyway. He’s in Glasgow, some place called The Bar-L. Mam says it’s like Strangeways only worse because it’s full of Scottish. And that’s just about the best place for him, Donna says.
You can see Strangeways from the snide market on Cheetham Hill Road. It’s this big castle with towers like Shutter Island, only scarier. There’s a massive wall and then curls of wire stuff on top, which looks like nothing much to be honest but Geet says it’ll cut you to shreds. They have to have it though, to stop all the Dads getting out. Just looking at it makes me heart go like mad.
It’s Friday so Mam’s likely down the club setting up but I can never be sure, and there’s no chance I’m letting Geet see The Other One, or she’ll be asking questions forever. And well we can’t go to Geet’s, can we, because she’s got it worse than me, being how she lives with her Mam and her Nan and Aunty Soraya who’s just weird, and those two little shits that look through the keyhole when you’re doing the toilet. Even her Dad lives there. I couldn’t be doing with all that, dunno how she gets any peace. They got these carpets that don’t go right to the edge and you can see all the floorboards, but Mam says there’s nothing wrong with that it probably just means they can’t afford ones that fit. I’m not so sure because Geet’s got a whole bedroom with only her own stuff in, and there’s always loads to eat and a proper table, and you gotta take your shoes off when you go in, for manners and that.
I got to check on Nan first, I tell her.
It’s only half-one but it doesn’t matter, mostly because Nan won’t know what day it is, never mind what time, on account of the drink. I don’t say that to Geet though.
We get there, curtains still shut and the gas fire on full, Nan fast asleep in her chair. I put Geet in the chair by the door, turn down the fire. It’s roasting, and Mam says one day the whole place will go up.
Stay here Geet and watch her, I says. If she wakes up just shout me.
Why, where you going?
Just do it, I says.
I go into the bedroom and pull off the wet sheet, put it in the laundry bag for tomorrow, gather up all the tissues and stuff them in the waste basket, put on a clean sheet. The top sheet’s a tiny bit wet but not enough to want changing, so I hang it over the bed-end to dry. Beside the bed, the ashtray’s fallen on the floor and there’s glass where Nan has knocked something over, so I scrape it all up with me hand then into the bin, cut me hand on the glass.
It’s only a nick but I suck it hard. You Can’t Be Too Careful, Donna says, not with cuts. Donna knew this girl called Sarah once, picked up a needle out the back, now she has to go to hospital every week get all the bad blood sucked out and some new stuff pumped in. Just one tiny prick, Donna says, and That’s All It Takes.
Geet’s sat straight up in the chair, staring at Nan.
What’s up? I go. Is she dribbling?
Geet shakes her head, fast.
Don’t worry she won’t bite you, I says.
I go through to the kitchen, boil the kettle for the pots. There’s not much in the sink being how Nan doesn’t really bother with eating even when I make her stuff. There’s some corned beef in the cupboard so I make her a butty. The bread’s got those little spots of blue coming; I smell it though and it seems okay. I scrape them off for now. I’ll get some fresh in the morning.
I get out The Complan. We always get The Complan because Nan never eats the butty, and Mam says we’ve got to get the goodness into her somehow, or it’ll be The End. The milk smells okay so I do half and half, for protein. Mrs Shepherd in food hygiene says if you don’t have enough protein you just Waste Away. Sometimes I wake straight up in the night just thinking about that, the Wasting Away and what it would look like, and what would happen if I get here one day and she’s all gone.
Nan hasn’t moved so I get ready to wake her.
You got to be careful with Nan, waking her up. Sometimes she wakes right up in a fright and once she knocked me clean over and I hit me head on the fire. Mam went mad when she saw the bump and they had a full-on screamer right here in the flat, even though I knew Nan was sorry and didn’t mean anything by it. I told Mam it was an accident but she just went, Accident? I’ll give her Accident. She’s One Long Bloody Accident, that one. Hey Donna, I ever get like that, just shoot me, says Mam.
Mam stopped me coming to Nan’s for two full days after that, it was the worst thing of me life, ever. I was so scared about the Wasting Away that I couldn’t even sleep, until Donna tells Mam, Listen, you’re going to make that kid sick, so in the end she gave in. And Nan was dead sorry, so even if it happened again there’s no way I’d grass her up.
I stand well back, lean forward and poke at her arm.
Whaaa… hoozat…?
It’s me Nan, I whisper, I done you a butty, corned beef. Make me a space, Geet, I says.
Geet clears the glasses and mugs off the table Nan keeps by the chair. Oh Nan, I goes, you knocked off that ashtray an’ all.
I get down on the carpet to clean up the mess, feel Nan’s hand on me head.
Hiya darlin, oh I’m sorry, she says.
By the time we get to Shah’s it’s gone half-two. The snow’s all gone on the pavement, just dirty brown wedges each side on the kerb, being how Mrs Shah puts the grit out every day.
We’re right up to them when I spot Donna up against the shutters in her parka, fur right up to her face, chips in her hand, talking. I turn back but she sees me. Donna’s got eyes in the back of her head, Mam says, and I reckon that’s true, though me Mam’s one to talk.
Aw shit, I goes, under me breath.
Hey, says Donna, what you doing, lady, outta school?
Inset Day, I tell her, only don’t tell me Mam.
Oh right, says Donna, and what kinda Inset Day’s that, that I can`t tell yer Mam? You didn’t say owt this morning.
I told you she was smart.
Aww, Dee-Dee, I goes.
I got her now, because Mam says that’s what I used to call her before I could even walk, and even if she doesn’t want to, she loves it when I call her that.
She takes a swipe at me and I duck. Get outta here. I won’t tell this once, but don’t do it again. And don’t be hanging about on street corners, either, now just get yourself home.
I lean forward, whisper so Geet won’t hear. Not if she’s there.
She’s not. I dropped her off in Ardwick this morning. She looks at me hard, Hungry? And holds out the chips.
I tuck the chips under me arm, grab on to Geeta, and we walk to the corner slow.
Behind me I can hear them all laughing and snide, Oh Dee-Dee.
Yeah right shut it, she says, but she doesn’t sound mad.
We get to the underpass. It’s not warm exactly, but it’s out of the wind and there’s bound to be an earner. Soon as we’re inside, I seen Space and Wheelie-boy, under the arch. Hold these, I tell Geeta, and I give her the chips.
Space looks me up and down, smiles. Alright Ro? Take this round to Danny at the Wheatsheaf, there’s a fiver in it, he says.
I tuck the parcel under me coat first, then I’m shaking me head at him. A tenner I says, because it’s only half-two. Yeah and by the way I’ve just gone ten, so now that’s double the risk.
Space just smiles and shakes his head, not like Get Lost, but like Mam does, when she means Whatever-Did-I-Do-To-Deserve-All-Of-This. You get any sharper, Ro-girl, you’re gonna cut yourself, he goes.
I’ve always liked Space, ever since he saw me being chased down by the garages, let me hide in his car, and I don’t mind working. A job’s a job at the end of the day, beats going to school. You never have to beg if you got your own money. Geet gets pocket money from her Dad but it’s not really hers. She has to put half of it in the post office and she has to be good if she wants the other half. And she’s not allowed to get sweets or snide DVDs. What’s the point of having money if you can’t buy stuff you need with it?
When you do a runner for someone you never get the money until you’ve dropped the package off in case you get stopped. Means you can say you just found the package, and I got let off twice already like that. Not like I’d ever tell anyway, I’m not completely stupid.
So by the time we’ve done it then been back to get the tenner it’s nearly half-three and we’re back in the clear, timewise.
Me and Geet go back to Shah’s, get some toffees. I put two pound on the leccy, get me Mam some cigs and a Heat then we go back to mine.
The back door sticks, like always. I turn the key, give it a kick, and Sappho shoots out between me legs. Yeah, well, she can stay out. No way I’m going out after her shouting Sappho, have people thinking I’m tapped. She’s like a man, she’ll come back when she’s ready, Mam says.
On the middle of the table there’s a note, I can tell from here it’s from Mam.
iT bEtA bE Hom TImE
OR ThEr bE TRubuL.
luv MAM. xx
Like I said before, I wouldn’t swap her, but to be honest sometimes I could do with one of them Mams who give you a bit more, well, slack. It’s not like I can’t be trusted.
Geet’s just stood staring, looking at the note like she’s stuck to the lino. I scrunch it up quick, shove it in me pocket. It’s not like Mam’s stupid or anything, so anyone laughs at her, even Geet, and I’d have to go savage. But she mustn’t have seen it, because she says nothing.
I get the bread out, root around in the back of the fridge for the peanut butter, Ta-raaahh!
I’ll spread, you fry, goes Geet, and I can tell she’s excited, because there’s no way her Mam’d let her make anything on her own, let alone a fried butty. When I have kids I’m gonna teach them to fry stuff, right off the bat, then if anything happens they’re not gonna starve. Or, worse, have to eat pasta which is pretty much just flour and water, the exact same stuff as the glue you make in the Infants, and how minging is that?
By the time Mam gets home I’ve got the fire on, one bar. She comes in through the back all soaked, snow melting, dripping little pools on the lino.
Hiya Geet love, she goes, does your Mam know you’re here? She holds out her phone. Give her a ring then and you can stop for your tea. She reaches into her bag and gets out a bumper pack of Mars bars.
Then the three of us are down on our knees in front of the fire, I’ve got mine melted just right and I’m just about to lick it when Mam looks up, sees the cigs.
And where did those come from?
Oh, Mr Lowski, I says.
I don’t even know why I said that, because it’s just about the worst thing I could’ve said, but it’s done now and I’ll have to blag it.
Geet looks right at me, but it’s best not to look back.
Mr Lowski? says Mam, in her dangerous voice.
Aw no Mam, I says, not like that.
Trouble is, she’s red-hot, Mam is, on old men giving us money and stuff. The way she goes on, anyone’d think I came in on the last cabbage boat from Birkenhead. Any lad over twelve even speaks to me, she goes off on one.
Bags. I helped him back from the shops with his bags, I tell her. To be honest it sounds a bit much even to me, a tenner for that one tiny thing. You can get a taxi to The Housing for that.
Look Mam, I say, I got you a Heat.
She just bats at the Heat like it’s nothing, which is well rude, especially when it’s a present.
How. Many. Times. Have. I. Told. You? You. Don’t. Take. Money. From. Anyone. Got. It? Truth now, did he make you go in his flat?
So by now I’m worrying about Mr Lowski, and if Mam gets it in her head he’s a nonce, when really he’s dead nice and gave me ten pence once when I shooed off that dog after it shat on his path, there’ll be hell on. And then that’d be just one more thing I’d done that I’d have to worry about.
I never, he just gave it me, honest, he can’t carry it himself. I got some leccy an’ all. Please Mam.
Then she comes over all sorry. Oh God Ror, you’re a good girl, she goes, and she gives me a hug. Don’t you do it again, though.
Then she’s got that singy voice going on, the one that means she’s happy.
She puts on her music and kicks off her shoes, dances over to me where I’m kneeling, pulls me up and swings me right round. Oh TFI Friday, she goes.
4
I pull up outside the Darts lock-up, Tony Maggs and Danny waiting outside in Danny’s black BM.
He’s a big bastard, Tony, lardy as fuck. When he smiles only his mouth moves, gives you a real creepy feeling. It’s the eyes, nothing behind them. When he looks at you they go dead, slide about like a snake.
They open up, hold the doors while I drive the van in. Inside, Danny walks over, looks at the side of the van, reads the sign out loud,
ARTEMIS WOMEN’S CLEANING SERVICES
Commercial and Domestic Cleaning
You can read, then?
He picks at the sign, Does it com
e off?
I grab his arm, What do you think, idiot?
I kid you not, if I had to rely on these lot for me cash I’d probably starve.
I go round to the back doors of the van, open them wide. Don’t just stand there, I tell him. Then all three of us are unloading the buckets and mops, and the containers marked bleach. I get under the floor by the wheel arch, bring out the stash. Tony takes it off me, cuts right in, sniffs at the blade, licks it. Kosher, he says, and nods at Danny. Still, when Danny walks into the back for the cash I make sure I’m nearest the door, just in case.
Danny holds the bag open, lets me see the money.
You don’t count the money at the drop, not when you got business with someone you know. It’s a big no-no, a lack of respect, and it’s not like you don’t know where to find each other if someone’s taking the piss. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that we actually trust each other, and I always count it afterwards, just in case. To be honest, it wouldn’t bother me if someone counted their money but it’s a man-thing, like respect’s all they got.
By now I’m loading the van back up, putting the mops and the buckets back over the floor. Danny starts to lift the containers of bleach.
Hey, don’t touch those, I tell him. And I must’ve been a bit sharp because Danny and Tony are looking back at me now, and I got to think fast. Bleach, you know, it’s toxic.
Oh yeah toxic, says Tony, of course.
Then they’re both nodding like they even know what that means, and I’ve split before I spoil it all and laugh. I’m still laughing when I pull up at Shah’s. I have a quick chat with the lads, bump into Ror. Little sod’s wagging it, and I’m gonna have to talk to Carla if I catch her again.
Got time to kill so I head for Oxford Road and the bookstall beside the Met steps. Today there’s a sign pinned to the table with a picture of that kid who got shot last month riding his bike: All today’s proceeds to Moss Side Mothers Against Violence.
