Black Sheep

by Na'ima B. Robert

The mention of Dwayne’s name put me in a bad mood all over again. Just as I was starting to adjust to the withdrawal symptoms. Of course, I had cut him off totally. I had a new number anyway, since Dad had taken the other phone and, now that I was in North London, I didn’t have to think about running into him around Brixton, near Gran’s.

  It hurt. Of course it did. It hurt so much that I had to force myself to get out of bed in the mornings, to bother to brush my hair, to read my Biology notes. But I forced myself all the same. Misha Reynolds did not do ‘lovesick teenager’, remember? And exams were fast approaching – a fact I had conveniently ignored since our relationship took off.

  Dad and Leona had become used to me moping around. Every time Leona saw me with a long face, she patted my arm.

  “This too shall pass,” she would say. “Now, don’t you have some studying to do?”

  Dad had laid down the law. Obviously, I was grounded and had to apologise to Mum for disrespecting her. I was to concentrate on my books from now on.

  “As for this boy – Dwayne – I will make my own judgement of him. I’ve heard some things from your mother, of course, but, as we don’t see eye-to-eye on this type of thing, I’m going to make my own mind up about this young man when he is ready to meet the family properly. Until then I don’t want you to see him.”

  “We’ve broken up anyway,” I mumbled.

  Dad just grunted and shook the pages of his newspaper.

  A whole week passed and I was getting ready to eat another Sunday lunch at Dad’s. But just as we sat down to eat, we heard the doorbell ring. Mark, Mr Running Man himself, leapt up to go and see who was at the door. When he came back from the door, he was grinning from ear to ear.

  “It’s someone for you, sis,” he smiled, winking at me.

  “For me?” I frowned. I looked over at Dad, who nodded his approval of me leaving the table.

  I got up and walked towards the front door, hugging my jumper around myself, trying to still my jangling nerves. Who could it be?

  When I got to the door, I saw a young boy with a hoodie and bright yellow trainers standing on the step in front of the door.

  “Jerome!” I exclaimed. “What are you doing here? Are you on your own?” But before I could look around to see how on earth Jerome Kingston had made his way to my father’s flat in North London, an older boy stepped out in front of me, his hood down, his hands behind his back.

  It was Dwayne.

  I jumped when I saw him, stifling a gasp with my hand. He was the last person I had expected to see – and here he was with his little brother, standing on my dad’s doorstep.

  “Dwayne?” I whispered. “What are you doing here?”

  But instead of answering me, Dwayne shook his head and gave Jerome a nudge. Jerome looked up at me and said, “Dwayne said he’s sorry.” Then he glanced up at his older brother and, with a mischievous glint in his eye, continued: “Dwayne said he’s sorry for being a total wasteman, a loser, a waste of space, a eediaat...” He struggled while Dwayne held his hand over his mouth, trying to keep a straight face. When at last Jerome had finished struggling, Dwayne let go of him and motioned for him to start again.

  Jerome readjusted his clothes, then said in a very important voice, “Dwayne said he’s sorry for the way he went on bad. He would like you to forgive him and he would like you two to get back together. And he’s come to meet your family.”

  Dwayne interrupted. “If you’ll let me, Misha,” he said. “Only if you want me to meet them. I know I’ve hurt you and I’ve taken you for granted but I’m gonna change, I swear down. Just give me a chance... please?”

  And although I felt like crying and flinging my arms around him, I held myself back. I nodded and stepped aside to let them in.

  “Come in then,” I said quietly. “You’re just in time for lunch.”

  Dwayne looked up at all the posters on the walls and the African masks on the shelves and let out a low whistle. “This is proper old skool, innit,” he said softly.

  When we reached the dining room, Dwayne finally came face to face with Dad, sitting at the head of the table, looked dignified and serious, his silver dreadlocks like a lion’s mane about his shoulders and down his back. He was looking at him with a neutral expression: neither welcoming nor hostile, just expectant. Unlike Dad, Leona had a welcoming look on her face, a small smile playing on her lips. Mark had already run off to the kitchen to fetch two extra chairs.

  Dwayne swallowed and said, “Good afternoon, Mr Reynolds, Mrs Reynolds, I’m sorry to disturb you during lunch... I...I wanted to come over and apologise for...”

  Dad held up his hand. “Later, son,” he said, gesturing towards the chairs that Mark had just dragged in from the kitchen. “For now, sit. You and your little brother will eat with us.”

  Leona smiled and said graciously, “Welcome to our home, Dwayne. Please, sit down.”

  “These are for you, Mrs Reynolds,” said Dwayne, handing a slender bunch of lilies to Leona. I was seriously impressed!

  Leona’s face lit up and she beamed with pleasure. “Oh, thank you, Dwayne, that is so sweet of you. Look at these, Isaiah, my favourites!” She turned to Jerome. “And what’s your name, little man?”

  “J-Jerome, Miss,” stammered Jerome, apparently caught off balance by her school-teacher voice.

  Imani laughed. “She’s not Miss, she’s Mum!”

  “Well, you can call me Mrs Reynolds, or Leona – though most of the children call me Auntie Lee.”

  “OK, then... Auntie Lee.” Jerome grinned sheepishly and sat down.

  DWAYNE

  I was well proud of the way Jay was handling himself. After a week, Mum had calmed down and let me see him again, even though she wouldn’t let me move back in.

  “Jay needs space, Dwayne,” she said.

  But I didn’t mind – as long as I got to see my little bro, y’get me. I had slapped him around a few times about the robbery. He’d been lucky – the judge let him off with a warning.

  “But if you try pulling any stunts like that again, I’ll bang you, y’understand?”

  Jay looked scared out of his mind but he nodded. He knew I wasn’t playing. I think Mum knew I wasn’t messing around either. I sat her down and we had a real heart-to-heart: I told her that I was off the badness, that I was thinking of becoming Muslim, that I wanted to be a good role model for Jay.

  I could see in her eyes that she really wanted to believe me. Which is why she finally agreed to let me take Jay with me to North London, to see Misha’s dad.

  “Don’t go showing me up, y’know!” I’d said to him while I got ready. “I’m trying to make a good impression, y’get me, so any foolishness from you and I’ll bang you, y’understand?”

  “Don’t worry, Dee, I won’t let you down,” Jay replied. He looked chuffed that I was trusting him with this, telling him about my business, something I never did.

  “Yeah, I know you won’t, man, I know. Now, how do I look?”

  “Like a badman!”

  “What? No, seriously, do I look decent, y’know, proper?”

  Jay put his head to one side and looked me up and down: the big diamond earring was gone, I didn’t have a cap, just my favourite leather jacket and a pair of jeans. Jay frowned and peered at the jeans again.

  “Yo, Dee, your boxers aren’t showing!” he cried, before laughing out loud.

  I hitched up my jeans. “Man has to come correct, y’get me,” I muttered, swiping at his head. “Shut up, man! Shut up before I mash you up!”

  He ducked and ran off to his room to finish getting dressed. “You must really love this girl,” he shouted from his room. “Man is going all the way to North London – with a belt on! That’s love for you, man. That’s love.”

  I watched Jay as he stared at the plate of vegetable stew and dumplings in front of him.

  ‘Eat!’ I willed him with my mind.

  I knew that Jay was a well fussy eater, mainly living on pizza and chicken nuggets – and rice a
nd peas on a Sunday – but I had already told him to make sure he didn’t show me up. He took a small bite, and then another, then another. And before I was halfway through mine, he was done.

  He looked up, all surprised.

  Everyone was staring at him.

  “Well,” chuckled Misha’s stepmum, “your little brother certainly likes Mark’s stew! I’ve never seen food disappear so fast! Here, give me your plate, there’s more in the pot.”

  I turned to Mark. “You made this? Raah... you can cook, huh?” I was well impressed.

  “Any chance I get,” grinned Mark. “When Mum will let me in the kitchen...” And he made a face at his mum as she came back in from the kitchen.

  “Now, what’s this boy been telling you, eh? Slandering his mother, is he?”

  “Nah, Mum, never, never,” Mark laughed, helping himself to more dumpling. Then he leaned over to me and whispered, “Actually, she’s jealous of my skills, y’know. One time, I made this wicked soup and Mum’s friends came round and when they tasted it, they were all like, ‘Oh Lawd, Leona, this is some fine soup yuh cook ‘ere!’ and Mum just smiled and said nothing – all the time it was me who made that soup, y’know!”

  We all laughed and, just like that, the tension disappeared. It was amazing: we became just a regular family, eating dinner together on a Sunday afternoon.

  I felt myself relax and, when Misha smiled at me across the table, I knew deep inside that everything was going to be all right.

  Man Talk

  The chat with Misha’s dad wasn’t that bad. He rolled up a joint and offered me some but I said no. It didn’t feel right to be smoking a spliff with your girl’s father, even if he was a Rasta.

  He asked me about myself, my family. I was as honest as I could be: no dad, hardworking mum, best little brother in the world.

  He asked me about my interests, what I liked doing. I told him about my music, how I had been approached by some DJ crews to spit for them, how I had won ‘nuff MC battles. I told him about maths, about the Higher Tier exams and tutoring the little kids after school.

  “To tell you the truth, sir, I really didn’t think much about exams and school until... until I met Misha...”

  “Really? Why is that?”

  “None of us did, y’get me. Where I’m from, school is just a place, a place your parents send you to get you out of their hair for a few hours. Hardly anyone takes it serious. They’re like, ‘What’s the point? Ain’t no good jobs for black boys anyway’. Plus everyone’s making money out on road. No one ain’t talking about going college or university or anything like that. And then I meet Misha and she’s like talking about studying Latin and wanting to take Spanish for ‘A’ Level, going university to become a linguist. Man, I had to go Google that one coz I didn’t even know what a linguist was, y’get me! And she’s talking to me, yeah, telling me about stuff I’ve never heard of, ideas I’ve never thought of, and I’m like, raah, this girl is something else, something special. Making man see the world differently, y’understand. So I start to fix up. Start to get serious about school, start thinking about my future, where I wanna be in five years’ time. Coz I wanna live up to who she thinks I can be. Coz no one ain’t believed in me like that before, ever...”

  I stopped talking then and looked up at Misha’s dad. I was afraid that he would be vex’ with me or think I was crazy. But he actually had a little smile on his face!

  “I feel like I know you, Dwayne Kingston,” he said. “Like I see a small part of myself in you. You have a good heart, I can see that. But let me tell you something,” he growled. “My daughter is a queen, y’understand? My daughter is a queen and deserves only honour and respect. Do you know how to respect a woman? I go tell you. To respect a woman is to love her, to trust her, to be honest and upfront with her, to protect her and to elevate her. Can you do all of this for my daughter? Can you? Because if you are playing a game with her, I advise you to leave my house right now.” His eyes blazed as he glared at me.

  I shook my head.

  “No, sir,” I squeaked. “I... I’m not playing games, sir. I... I love her... I love your daughter, sir.”

  Mr Reynolds sat back in his seat. “So it looks like I will have to be having a word with Misha’s mother. But I’ll be keeping a close eye on you two. You are both still very young and foolish. So we’ll have to see where this whole thing goes. Now go ‘long! Tell Misha I said to come here with my cup of herbal tea. You can go and join the rest of the family now.” And he put his head back against the sofa and closed his eyes.

  I left as quickly as I could. I was sweating!

  When I gave Misha her dad’s message, her eyes were full of questions. “It was fine, babes, we’re sorted. It’s gonna be fine.”

  Misha squealed with delight and jumped up and held on to my neck.

  “I’m sorry, Misha,” I whispered. “I’m sorry for being such a eediat. Will you forgive me?”

  “Of course I will, Dwayne,” she smiled. That was what I wanted to do: put a smile on her face every day.

  Misha’s little sister, Imani, tugged my hand.

  “Come, Dwayne,” she said in her high little voice. “I want to show you the African dance I learned this weekend.”

  When Misha came in from seeing her dad, she found us all in the lounge: Mark and Jay on the cowhide drums, Imani dancing away in the middle and me spitting some freestyle over the beats. Leona was ad-libbing with snatches of a chorus she had made up. “Come dance with us, Mishie!” called Josh and, soon, Misha was in the centre of the lounge, copying Imani’s moves, moving to the beat of the drums and my voice flowing over all of them.

  Jay fell asleep on the train on the way home. I had to carry him back to the flat on my back. When we left Misha’s dad’s place, I messaged Mum to tell her that we were on our way back so that she wouldn’t stay up worrying. I knew she had the early shift at work and needed to get to sleep early.

  I got us into the flat and kicked open the door to Jay’s room. I laid him on his bed and slipped off his favourite yellow trainers. The ones I had bought him for his birthday. Jay shifted and opened one eye. He smiled a crooked smile.

  Joker. He’d been awake all along!

  “That was nice, Dee,” he said sleepily. “Misha’s family’s really nice...” Then he closed his eye and his head flopped to one side.

  I stayed there for a few moments, looking at his little chest rise and fall. “Thank you, Jay,” I said softly, pulling the covers over him. “You were a star tonight. You smashed it.”

  When I got to my room, I sat down on the bed, thinking about Misha and her family. Thinking about how it felt to know that Misha was still into me, that we were back together, that her dad had my back. I grinned. I couldn’t have hoped for better. Times like this, man just had to show a bit of gratitude.

  “Thank you, God... Allah... Thank you...for everything.”

  Reconciliation

  MISHA

  I spent two weeks at Dad’s before finally going home to Mum. We spoke on the phone most days but, often, those conversations ended in an argument or either one of us putting the phone down. On Thursday night, we had a particularly bitter argument and I refused to speak to Mum when she called back.

  “Looks like we need to have a family meeting,” said Dad gravely.

  Leona’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you sure, Isaiah? You know what Dina can be like...”

  “I can’t be having all this dissent and upheaval in my family,” Dad said. “We must sort it out once and for all.”

  Early the next morning, Dad rang Mum while she was on her way to work. “Dina, I want you to come to the house tonight.”

  “What? Why?” She was on speaker-phone, so I could hear everything she said.

  “Because you and Misha must sort this thing out.”

  “Well, Isaiah, if you think I’m coming up to your place so that you and Leona can have a go at me, you’ve got another think coming. I am perfectly capable of speaking to my own daughter �
�� but at home, in private.”

  “Enough with your foolish pride, Dina!” Dad raised his voice. “No one is saying you aren’t capable – we know that you are. But this thing here needs a family discussion, where we can all share our views and come to the best decision. Please, Dina, just put your pride to one side for once.”

  “I don’t want Leona there,” Mum said stiffly. “She’s not really family, is she?”

  “Dina, Leona is family,” Dad growled. “She is family because she loves Misha, like we all do. And to be honest, she’s really been there for Misha through all of this, giving her some real good advice, listening to her. Don’t try and shut her out now. For Misha’s sake.”

  It was strange to meet Mum at the door of Dad’s place. We had never even spent more than two nights apart, ever. She looked different somehow, older. At first I didn’t know what to say, what to do or where to look. So much had happened. But then I saw a shadow cross her face and I knew that she was just as unsure as I was.

  “Mum,” I whispered, stepping forward.

  “Oh, Misha,” she breathed and held her arms out to me, her only daughter. “My baby, come here...”

  I stepped into her arms willingly and held her hard, suddenly hit by the realisation that I had missed her, missed her a lot. We stood there for a long time, Mum rubbing my back, stroking my hair. We were both sniffling by the time we separated.

  “Come on then, Mum,” I said, my voice hoarse, “everyone’s waiting for you.”

  And, for the first time in living memory, Mum stepped over the threshold of Dad and Leona’s house in North London.

  It didn’t go as badly as I had feared. Mum was civil to Leona, even quite warm with Mark and Imani, letting Joshie play with her keys. It was when we all moved to the dining room that things got a little heated.

  “Misha, please, how many times do I have to tell you,” Mum cried out at one point, “I’m not trying to ruin your life! I’m just trying to protect you from the things that could destroy your future.”

  “Yes, Mum, I know that but I have to have a say in my future too!” I responded with feeling. “It’s my life!”