‘I’m hardly ever on it when you’re not here,’ Kermit lied. ‘I’ve just got skills – and you’re just jealous, ’cos you know you can’t touch me.’
‘That right?’ Leon punched him in the arm. ‘Touched you then, though, didn’t I? So what you saying now, shithead? Eh? Eh? Not man enough to fight back?’
Infuriated when Leon started punching him repeatedly in the arm, Kermit threw down the control pad and jumped on him. They rolled around on the bed for several seconds before falling onto the floor in a tangled heap. Then, grunting and wheezing for breath, they grappled until they got themselves wedged between the end of the bed and the chest of drawers. Unable to move, they looked into each other’s eyes and burst out laughing.
‘Let’s have another drink?’ Kermit suggested when the laughter had subsided.
‘And a smoke,’ added Leon, pushing his friend towards the door. ‘Go grab some of your mam’s dimps.’
Kermit did as he’d been told, and came back with a packet of Rizla papers and a handful of crumpled, black-tipped dog-ends from his mum’s bedroom. It was the only room in the flat that she ever smoked in, because she didn’t want to pollute the younger kids’ lungs, and the place might as well have been a giant ashtray given how many dimps were lying around. Kermit wished she hadn’t switched to roll-ups, because he preferred the taste of the proper cigs she used to smoke. But she reckoned she couldn’t afford them any more, and beggars couldn’t be choosers, so he tore a couple of papers out of the pack, then carefully rolled a couple of fresh smokes from the ashy remnants.
‘That’s mingin’,’ Leon complained, spitting out a piece of blackened tobacco after lighting up. ‘It’d taste well better with weed.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ Kermit agreed, squinting as he tugged on his own smoke. ‘But we ain’t got any.’
‘So let’s go get some.’
‘How? We ain’t got no money.’
Leon shrugged and reached for the drink he’d poured when Kermit had gone dimp-hunting. ‘We could go down the canal and see if Damo and the lads are there?’
‘I don’t know.’ Kermit gave him an uncertain look. ‘I don’t think they like us.’
‘They might not like you, but they’re cool with me,’ Leon sneered. ‘That’s ’cos I’m not a wuss like you.’
Kermit’s heart sank as he watched Leon quickly down his drink. It was all right for him: he didn’t go to the same school as Damo and the other lads, so he’d never seen them when they were bullying the smaller kids. Kermit was shit-scared of the lot of them, but Leon thought they were ace and was always going out of his way to bump into them. Amazingly, even though they were all way older than him, they didn’t seem to mind; but Kermit had a suspicion that was because Leon was black. If he’d been white, they would probably have battered him by now for being such a pest. And it didn’t even matter that most of them were white themselves; they acted black, so that made them black in their eyes.
‘Come on,’ Leon said impatiently when he’d finished his drink and noticed that Kermit hadn’t even touched his yet. ‘We ain’t got all day.’
He jumped up now and, shoving the bottle with what was left of the whisky in it into his pocket, headed for the door. Aware that his friend was going to go with or without him, Kermit reluctantly finished his drink. Then, carrying the cups into the kitchen, he rinsed them out so that his mum wouldn’t smell the alcohol before following Leon out.
Chantelle only discovered that Leon was out when she took him a sandwich at lunchtime. She was a bit annoyed that he’d gone out without telling her, but he always hung out with his mates at the weekend so it wasn’t exactly unusual. And their mum never made a fuss about it, so she supposed she had no reason to either. She had to admit it had been good to have a bit of peace, because the revising had been going pretty well so far and she was beginning to think that maybe the exams wouldn’t be too bad, after all.
She spent the rest of the day in her room, only coming out to make dinner at six. Leon still wasn’t back by the time she’d finished cooking, so she covered his plate and put it in the oven. When he still hadn’t come home by eight she guessed that he was probably at Kermit’s and had forgotten the time because he was immersed in that stupid computer game they had been playing. She decided to go and get him.
‘Sorry, love, I haven’t seen him,’ Linda told her when she answered the door. ‘I know he was here earlier, ’cos our Kermit told me he was going to call for him when I went to the carny. But he’d gone by the time I got home.’
‘What time was that?’ Chantelle asked.
‘Round six-ish.’ Linda folded her arms and frowned when she saw the worry in the girl’s eyes. ‘What’s up, love? Hasn’t he been home yet?’
‘No.’ Chantelle shook her head and bit her lip. Leon had loads of mates, but none of the others’ parents were as tolerant as Linda so this was the only place he was ever allowed to hang out for any length of time. But if he wasn’t here, where the hell was he? ‘Can I speak to Kermit for a minute?’ she asked.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Linda said uncertainly. ‘He wasn’t very well when I came in, so I told him to go for a lie-down.’
‘Well, can you talk to him?’ Chantelle urged. ‘Please. I’m really worried.’
Linda sighed. Then, nodding, she stepped back. ‘All right. Come in for a minute.’
For once, Chantelle didn’t object. Right now, she was more concerned about finding Leon than fending off Kermit’s snot-nosed siblings. Fortunately, none of the younger children were up, so she stood in the hall unmolested as Linda went to talk to Kermit. Already edgy, she was annoyed when she heard the boy yelling at his mother to get out and, unable to stop herself, she marched into his room. Kermit was curled up in a ball in the bed with his quilt drawn up around his face. Apologising to Linda for barging in, Chantelle reached down and yanked the quilt back.
‘What you doing?’ Kermit protested, snatching at it and squinting up at her.
As soon as she looked into his bloodshot eyes, Chantelle knew that he was wrecked, and her concerns intensified. ‘Where’s Leon?’ she demanded.
‘I dunno,’ Kermit muttered, his gaze swivelling guiltily.
‘You’re lying,’ Chantelle barked.
‘Hey, there’s no need for that.’ Linda jumped to her son’s defence. ‘If he says he don’t know, then he don’t know. And he’s not well, so I think you’d better go now.’
She gestured towards the door, but Chantelle wasn’t ready to leave yet. ‘Don’t protect him,’ she said sharply. ‘He’s not ill, he’s wasted.’
‘What d’you mean?’ Linda frowned.
‘I mean he’s high,’ said Chantelle, wondering how the woman could have lived on this estate for so long and still not know the first thing about drugs.
‘Course he’s not,’ Linda scoffed. ‘He doesn’t even smoke – do you, son?’
Kermit’s face was already pale, but when it suddenly turned a strange shade of green Chantelle knew what was coming and leapt away from the bed just in time.
‘Oh, now look what you’ve done!’ Linda yelped when her son threw up all over the carpet. ‘I told you he wasn’t well, so why did you have to go shouting at him like that? Whatever your Leon’s up to, it’s not my Kermit’s fault. I’m surprised at you, Chantelle, I really am. I thought you were better than that.’
Chantelle felt bad for upsetting the woman but she was more concerned about Leon now than ever, and she needed Kermit to tell her where they had been and what they had been doing. It hadn’t even crossed her mind until now that Leon might be taking drugs. But if Kermit had been taking them, and they had been together, then Leon must have tried them too.
‘Kermit, I’m not angry with you,’ she lied, softening her tone as she gazed down at the boy. ‘And I’m sorry if I scared you, but I really need to know where Leon is. I don’t want to call the police, but if you won’t tell me where Leon is, I’ll have no choice.’
Kermit gazed back at her guiltily and licked his d
ry lips. ‘Promise you won’t tell him it were me what told?’
‘I promise. But please just tell me.’
‘He was down by the canal when I left him.’
‘On his own?’ Chantelle was horrified. ‘Oh, God, it’s really dark out there. What if he’s fallen in? How could you be so stupid?’
‘He’s not on his own.’ Kermit flicked a nervous glance at his mother. ‘He’s with some lads.’
‘Who?’ Chantelle demanded.
Kermit swallowed loudly and shrugged. ‘Just some lads from my school.’
‘Older lads?’ Chantelle asked, frowning down at him. ‘Is that where you got the weed?’
‘Yes.’ Kermit’s voice was little more than a whisper.
‘And you’ve been drinking as well, haven’t you?’ Chantelle persisted, picking up the bitter scent of alcohol on his breath.
When Kermit nodded, Linda barked, ‘Oh, you’ve had it now, boy! You told me you was sick, but you never said nowt about drugs and drinking. You just wait till your dad finds out, he’ll—’
Chantelle didn’t hang around to hear the rest. Her brother was out there in the dark with some older boys, doing God only knew what. He thought he was streetwise, but it was one thing acting the big man in front of his mates and quite a different matter doing it in front of strangers who had already plied him with drugs and booze. What was to say they hadn’t made him sniff glue, or smoke crack, or something, as well? That was the kind of thing teenage lads seemed to get a kick out of doing to younger kids round here lately.
Terrified that she was going to find her brother floating face down in the filthy canal water, Chantelle ran through the estate and down the steps to the towpath. The moon was shrouded in clouds so it was pitch dark, and the sound of the water lapping close to the edge of the path as she made her way slowly along filled her with dread.
As she rounded the wide bend where the canal turned towards the locks, she heard the faint sound of laughter up ahead and quickened her pace. The clouds momentarily shifted and she caught a glimpse of several silhouetted figures in the near-distance. They were laughing and jeering, and her heart leapt into her throat when she got closer and saw that a safety barrier had been untethered from the locks’ mechanism and pushed out over the water. Leon, with his arms outstretched at the sides, was walking slowly along it, urged on by prods from the big stick that one of the lads was jabbing into his back.
‘Oh my God!’ she gasped, pushing her way through the boys. ‘Get him down before he falls, you idiots!’
‘Yo! What the fuck …?’ the lad with the stick protested, scrabbling to keep his footing when Chantelle nearly sent him flying. Righting himself, he turned and glared at her. ‘See if these garms get wet …’ He sucked his teeth, before adding in a Jamaican accent, ‘Man, me haf’ fe shoot yuh, t’ raas!’
Unimpressed, Chantelle glared at him. He only looked to be about fifteen, judging by the fluff on his upper lip, and he was white, so the bad-boy posturing left her cold. ‘Get … him … down,’ she ordered. ‘He’s only a kid; you should be ashamed of yourself.’
‘He’s having fun,’ the lad informed her, with a grin. ‘You wanna chill out, sis.’
‘I am not your sis,’ she spat through gritted teeth. ‘I’m his!’ She pointed at Leon. ‘And if you don’t get him down right now, I’m going to call the police and tell them you’ve been giving him drugs.’
The grin was gone in a flash, and the lad stepped right up to her. ‘Wouldn’t do that if I was you, darlin’.’
Chantelle’s stomach was churning, but she forced herself to hold the boy’s gaze and pulled her phone out of her pocket. ‘One …’ she said, pressing her thumb down on the 9 button.
‘Leave it, man,’ one of the others said, tugging on his friend’s arm. ‘Let’s chip, yeah?’
But the aggressive one hadn’t finished with Chantelle yet. ‘Nice phone,’ he drawled, a nasty glint in his eye. ‘Giz it here.’
‘Get real!’ Chantelle snapped, jerking it out of reach when he made a grab for it. ‘What you gonna do – beat me up for it?’
‘That what you want, is it?’
‘Think you’re a proper hard man, don’t you?’ Chantelle sneered, standing her ground even though her legs were shaking wildly. ‘Go on, then. Do it!’
Before he could make a move, one of the others, who had until then been sitting watching, stood up. ‘Right, that’s enough,’ he said. ‘Get the kid down, and let’s get out of here.’
Chantelle sobbed with relief when one of the lads pulled Leon off the barrier and brought him back to the path. She ran over to him to make sure he was okay, but he shoved her away.
‘What do you want? Coming here shootin’ your mouth off, spoiling everyone’s fun.’
‘Don’t you dare talk to me like that!’ Chantelle yelled, grabbing him by the front of his jacket and shaking him roughly. ‘Have you any idea how dangerous that was? You could have died! It’s pitch black, and you’re off your head!’
‘Yo!’ Leon spat, twisting free and brushing at his jacket as if she’d smeared it with shit. ‘Gyal mekkin’ pure mess of man’s garms.’
‘Stop talking like a moron and get yourself home,’ Chantelle barked, completely unimpressed.
‘Make me!’ Leon jerked his chin up in defiance.
Unable to stop herself, Chantelle swung out her hand and slapped him hard across the face. Then, with the gang’s laughter ringing in her ears, she gripped him by the back of his collar and, almost lifting him clean off his feet, marched him back up the path.
Anton Davis lit his spliff and took a deep toke, relishing the feel of the smoke rolling down his throat. He’d had a long, boring day at work and couldn’t wait to jump in the bath. But he’d be going straight back out as soon as he was dry, because there was no way he was sitting around watching his mum and her boyfriend make goo-goo eyes at each other.
Phil Green had moved in while Anton was locked up, and the flat reeked of the dude’s cheesy socks and cheap aftershave. But it was the fact that he didn’t work that really pissed Anton off. Even when he’d still been at school, Anton had always done his bit to keep the family going. The money might not have always come from the most legitimate of sources but it had paid for the TV that the lazy bastard seemed to think was his now – and the couch he spent the majority of his life sprawled out on.
Anton couldn’t wait to get a place of his own, but he’d put his name down with the council when he was released so all he could do was wait until something came up. Until then, he was staying out of his mum and Phil’s way in case the temptation to knock the dude out became too strong to resist. His mum had had a tough time after Anton’s dad had died, and none of her subsequent relationships had lasted very long. The last one had resulted in the birth of Anton’s little sister, Rachel. She was almost five now, and there had been no one in his mum’s life since Rachel’s dad had done a flit. Until Phil came along, that was. And, as much as Anton didn’t like him, his mum did, so he wasn’t about to ruin it for her.
As long as the dude behaved himself.
First sign that he was stepping out of line, Anton would be all over him.
He had just reached his mum’s block when two shadowy figures emerged from the side of the bin cupboards. Stepping aside to let them pass, he hesitated when he saw that one of them was Chantelle. He’d been disappointed to hear that she was still at school, but that hadn’t stopped him from thinking about her since. Tall and model-slim, she was the spit of the young Whitney Houston, from the creamy butterscotch complexion to the sexy long-lashed almond-shaped eyes. He’d been with more girls than he cared to remember in his younger days, but none – and he meant none – had been a patch on her.
He gazed at her now as she marched past with a young scowling boy in tow, and asked, ‘Is everything all right?’
‘Mind your own business!’ she muttered, walking on without so much as glancing at him.
Anton watched as she dragged the boy through
the flats’ main door and up the stairs. The boy complained loudly all the way up through the floors, and Anton couldn’t help but smile when he heard the girl warn him to hush his mouth or she would give him licks. She was a feisty one, all right – but not trash-talking feisty, like so many of the other girls on the estate. There was something kind of dignified about her and, while he’d only been half-joking when he’d told Shotz over a spliff last night that he was going to get off with her, now he meant it. One way or another, that girl was going to be his.
4
Monday dawned bright but Chantelle was in no mood to appreciate the overdue sunshine. Her mum still hadn’t come home, and her phone was still off, so even if she’d seen the numerous messages that Chantelle had sent she obviously had no intention of replying to them.
She could be lying dead in a ditch for all Chantelle knew, and if this was the first time that Mary had gone awol Chantelle might have been tempted to call the police. But her mum’s best mate Tracey was also nowhere to be found, so her instincts told her that they had most likely hooked up with some losers at that party her mum had said they were going to and had spent the weekend with them.
Pissed off about that – and sick to her stomach at the thought of sitting her first exam without preparation, thanks to Leon playing up and stopping her from revising – Chantelle struggled to shake off her foul mood as she got ready for school. It had taken every ounce of self-control to keep from throttling Leon after finding him down by the canal on Saturday night, and she’d had to keep such a close eye on him after that to make sure he didn’t sneak out again that she hadn’t retained a single word from the tiny bit of studying she had managed to do. She just knew she was going to fail her exams, but there was nothing she could do about it now except try her best – and pray for a miracle.
Still mad at Leon, and convinced that he was dawdling to spite her, she was yelling at him to hurry up as she opened the front door. But the words died in her throat when she found herself face to face with a man she’d never seen before.
Respect (Mandasue Heller) Page 4
