Blood Donors
Page 17
We wait.
The doors open. Compo got my dad over his shoulder, fireman’s lift. It look like Dad is the littl’un now, and Compo is the dad. Compo is stronger than I thought, twenty floors he carry the weight of my father down. He stride to the meat wagon like he got determination in his legs.
Compo and Morse lift Dad into the back of the ambulance, doors slam shut behind him, like curtain goin’ down at the end of a performance. Wagon begin to drive away. I wait, listen out, see whether they have need of the sirens.
Do I care?
I will never be like him.
As the meat wagon drive away, the sirens begin. I am glad.
Minute later, my hound come boundin’ up to me, leapin’ all over, lickin’ me like he thought he’d never see me again. Con-Con come boundin’ behind him, also lookin’ like he want to lick me all over.
I turn to Mum. So what happen now?
Connor is tryin’ to reach his arm up, reach his hand onto my shoulder, like we the same height, same age. So I let my hand rest on his shoulder.
You saved a load of lives she says, my Little Prince.
How many years since she call me that? Too many.
A lot of people are very grateful, including the council. She can’t hold back an excited smile. We’re going to get rehoused.
When? I say.
Soon enough.
I’m thinkin’ about that. What we goin’ to do in the meantime?
Mum read my mind. Big Auntie reckons if we play our cards right, we got to go somewhere, and maybe the council is going to show some genuine gratitude. She’s been having a word. Maybe we’ll finally get to go on that holiday we always wanted.
Oh, a rest. A lie-down, without no itchy and scratchy. Beaches. Blue sea. Costa del Whatever.
I stand there, imaginin’ it. Aroun’ me is laughter and yippin’, from my mum and my bro and my dog, and from Sis and Mus and Big Auntie.
My crew.
That sounds fine to me.
I close my eyes, and I take a deep breath.
About the Author
Steve Tasane is a writer and performance poet. He has been writer-in-residence at the V&A Museum of Childhood, Battersea Dogs Home and the Dickens Bicentennial Celebrations, as well as performing at Glastonbury, and on TV and radio. He is a passionate advocate of popular poetry, mentoring young poets and visiting schools to introduce children of every age to his blend of Slam, Rap and Punk.
Steve’s poetry and stories have been widely published in anthologies, including How to Be a Boy, and also a solo collection, Bleeding Heart. He was shortlisted for the Diverse Voices Award for Fly Kids. Everything I’ve learned in life, about people and animals and love and hate, goes into what I write he says.
For more about Blood Donors, and extras including The Marshall Chronicles, visit stevetasane.wordpress.com. Find Steve’s performance poetry on YouTube or at stevetasane.com.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. All statements, activities, stunts, descriptions, information and material of any other kind contained herein are included for entertainment purposes only and should not be relied on for accuracy or replicated as they may result in injury.
First published in Great Britain 2013 by Walker Books Ltd
87 Vauxhall Walk, London SE11 5HJ
© 2013 Steve Tasane
The right of Steve Tasane to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, taping and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data:
a catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 978-1-4063-5006-7 (ePub)
www.walker.co.uk