Being Me

by Pete Kalu

  ‘Yeh, fuck you!’ I tell Miss Tattoo as I step out with him. She looks at me like, is that all you’ve got? And gives us both the middle finger, slowly.

  We tumble down the stairs in a fit of giggles.

  The gale has stopped and the sun’s blazing. I spot a big plastic sheet across the road, sheltering a shop’s fruits and vegetables. It’s bulging with rain water. I dart across the road. Marcus dashes after me. Before he can stop me I’ve found a pole and whacked the plastic. A ton of water shoots down off the plastic, drenching me, Marcus and three gasping shoppers.

  ‘Run!’ Marcus shouts.

  We run like the wind.

  We make it to a patch of grass at the end of the parade of shops and sit on a bench there.

  ‘What are you like?’ says Marcus. ‘You just do things.’

  ‘Fun though, no?’

  ‘Whatever.’

  Marcus has taken his hearing aids out and is wiping them. He pops them back in then gets up and starts juggling his ball.

  ‘Do you sleep with it?’ I ask him.

  He doesn’t answer but a grin sneaks out of one side of his mouth.

  ‘Admit it, Marky, you sleep with your football!’

  ‘Shh,’ he says, ‘I’m trying to land this.’

  ‘Boring!’

  He’s doing a spin round and trap. As usual when he starts with his tricks, a crowd builds up. I wait till he kicks the ball really high, then spring up and grab it.

  ‘What do you do that for?’ he says, trying to wrestle the ball from me.

  I hang on to it and he smothers me in his arms, which is kind of nice. ‘Come on, let’s go,’ I say, almost licking his ear. He pulls away me. I bounce the ball back to him.

  Where did the time go? It’s nearly eight o’clock and we’re both hungry. We’ve ended up back at Marcus’s. His dad’s out at a recording studio. His mum’s in the kitchen. Baby Leah is sleeping in her buggy and his mum says not to get her out of it because that will wake her. Marcus is in the back alley practicing half volleys. It’s weird sitting in someone else’s house, in a room alone. The TV is blaring out a game show. The house phone rings and I wonder whether I should pick it up. Just as I get up, it stops ringing. There’s photos all along the mantelpiece, mainly of Marcus when he was younger, some of Leah. There is one that I guess is his mum and dad billions of years ago. They’re arm in arm, leaning against a car. She’s got flares and a tie dye top, he’s got a big Afro, a tight T shirt and muscles. There’s a small photo of an old man looking regal in a gold frame in the middle of the mantelpiece. The face is more like Marcus than his dad. I pick it up. People say sometimes genes skip a generation. And sometimes they don’t. I think, what if I become my dad, with his temper? Or my mum, all druggy and dreamy? Both thoughts scare me.

  ‘That’s his granddad,’ Marcus’s mum says, bursting in, her arms full of laundry.

  Her voice makes Leah stir. Marcus’s mum freezes and puts a finger to her lips. Leah’s little hands are up and jerking. Gradually they relax and drop to her legs again. Her mum takes a step. The floor creaks. Leah opens one groggy eye. The one eye looks up at her mum who stays as still as a statue. The eye looks around the room. Will she go back to sleep? We’re both holding our breath. Leah’s one eye fixes on me. A second eye joins the first. Both eyes stare at me as only babies’ eyes can, intently and completely blank, like maybe she’s dreaming with her eyes open. I count four seconds, not breathing. Then the sound wave hits.

  ‘Waaahhhh!’ goes Leah.

  ‘That’s all I need!’ her mum says, dumping the laundry on the sofa. She unstraps Leah, gives her a big blubbery kiss, changes her nappy, tickles her tum, feeds her with a bottle, and then pours her into my arms. She’s lovely and warm and smells of soap and talc.

  ‘Have you burped a baby before?’ her mum asks.

  ‘What’s that?’

  She shows me. Soon I’m doing little circular motions on Leah’s back. Leah gurgles.

  ‘That’s a burp,’ her mum says. ‘Keep that going while I put this laundry away. I won’t be two ticks.’

  Half an hour later, I’m still holding Leah. She’s bouncing up and down in my arms. Marcus barges back in via the kitchen. He’s all muddy and he’s chuffed with himself.

  ‘You should of seen me land the volleys. Boom boom boom! Dead centre every time!’

  ‘I wish I had a baby sister. Leah’s so cute,’ I say, as Leah starts kicking, then wriggles across into her brother’s arms. He takes her up.

  ‘Try changing her nappy,’ he says, sniffing her. His mum plucks Leah off him.

  ‘Can I stay tonight?’ I ask.

  Marcus’s mum turns and looks at me squint-eyed.

  I can’t believe what I’ve just said either.

  Marcus wriggles in his shoes.

  ‘I could sleep in Leah’s room!’ I add quickly.

  ‘Marcus, did you put her up to this?’ his mum quizzes.

  ‘No! Why does everything have to be me!’ Marcus protests.

  His mum looks at me kindly. ‘I’m not being funny, love, but, why would you want to stay here? Your house is a lot less cramped.’

  ‘Here’s warmer,’ I say. ‘And I could help out with Leah.’

  ‘Adele, is there anything wrong at home?’

  I shrug. ‘Mum and Dad aren’t getting on that well so...’

  ‘Her dad’s having an affair!’ Marcus blurts out.

  I elbow him.

  ‘What was that for?’

  ‘Oh jeez, you kids,’ mutters Mrs Adenuga, then, Adele, get your mum on the phone for me.’

  I dial my mum. After five failed attempts, I text her:

  pik up the fone u dozy cow its me

  When I next ring, she answers.

  ‘Don’t be calling me a dozy cow, I’m your mother and you have no idea of the things I do...’

  I let Mum blab on till she has to come up for air.

  ‘Mum, can I stay at Marcus’s?’

  That sets her off on another six hour speech:

  ‘I don’t even allow your brother to... You could be out all night for all I know, and even if you weren’t, I mean, hello, you’re only fourteen. You’re too young. I hardly know the boy. He could be an escaped murderer. You could get pregnant. You don’t have a toothbrush ... I suppose it’s better you’re out of the way.’

  ‘What do you mean “out of the way”?’ I ask.

  ‘Nothing ... I don’t feel comfortable about this, Adele.’

  ‘So that’s a “yes” then, Mum?’

  ‘Pass me the phone, Adele,’ says Marcus’s mum.

  I hand her the phone. Mrs Adenuga talks with her. I get her side of the conversation:

  ‘No, me neither... About 6 months ... yes, they’re just kids ... Mm. They do get on well together ... He has his moments but he’s no angel either ... Exactly, in my days ... It’s ... Marcus? Of course ... I’ll make sure ... If he tries, I’ll chop it off myself ... Not so much spare, it’s the baby’s room ... Very well actually, you’d be surprised, it’s actually sweet to see ... Maybe she hides it ... Yes ... I know, I know ... No ... Don’t you worry, there’ll be no sneaking around, I’ll put tacks in the hallway! Any concerns you just ring me any time. Let me give you our house number.’

  I can tell things are running our way. I look over to Marcus. His dimple grin is on full. I show him my crossed fingers.

  His mum hands me back the phone. ‘Your mum wants to speak to you.’

  Mum’s got her posh voice on, like she thinks maybe my phone’s on speaker.

  ‘We need words when you get back tomorrow,’ she says.

  ‘Thanks, Mum, I love you.’

  ‘I love you too, Adele. And I’m really, really sorry about what I said when you broke the window.’

  I say nothing. I don’t want to go into it.

  ‘... But we still need words, Adele.’

  ‘Will you cook lasagne tomorrow?’

  ‘Behave yourself and don’t show me up. We brought you up right
, don’t embarrass us.’

  Marcus’s mum is leaning in trying to overhear, but politely, like I’m not supposed to notice. ‘That’s really nice, Mum, use lots of tomatoes.’

  ‘Are you listening?’

  ‘I’m just polishing my halo.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Jeez, Mum. I’ll behave, OK? Love you. Bye.’ I press End Call.

  Marcus’s mum looks at me, dead serious. ‘You’ll be in Leah’s room, you understand?’

  I nod.

  ‘No sneaking round in the middle of the night, either of you. Marcus?’

  ‘Right,’ Marcus scowls.

  ‘Right,’ I nod. ‘Does he need feeding in the middle of the night?’

  ‘Him? Not usually,’ Marcus’s mum snorts.

  I go red. ‘I meant she. Leah.’

  She shakes her head. ‘But she does wake up sometimes. Just ignore her and she’ll go back to sleep. Whatever you do don’t take her out of the cot, because then you’ll never get her back in. I’ll go and sort out the spare bed.’

  ‘Do you need any help?’ I ask.

  ‘No, you chill down here, sweetheart, I’ll take care of it.’

  She goes upstairs. Marcus looks at me, then quickly away, then at me again.

  ‘This is weird,’ he says.

  ‘Good weird?’

  ‘Yeh.’ He’s amused and embarrassed and excited all at once. So am I.

  ‘Erm, I’ll go and get you some pyjamas,’ he says.

  He goes off. Two minutes later, he’s down with stuff in his arms that he pushes into mine.

  I take a look. It’s a monkey print onesie. I bite my lip trying not to laugh. I’m imagining him in them.

  ‘What?’ he says.

  ‘No, they’re ... cute,’ I say.

  His mum bustles in. ‘They’re his favourite ones. He must really like you,’ his mum says, smirking.

  ‘Shut up, Mum,’ Marcus says.

  ‘They look really warm,’ I say, ‘You’re definitely my go-to guy for PJs.’ I kiss him lightly on the cheek. This makes him blush and sit on the sofa, and his mum shoots a look at me that is something between a warning and a thank you.

  ‘Right, both of you in the kitchen now and help me peel potatoes!’ his mum says.

  The kitchen’s too small for all three of us so we grab everything and shift to the living room.

  We get into this peel-fest in the living room, with buckets, potatoes, carrots and swedes. There’s a game show on TV. Everyone gets involved.

  ‘Rubbish!’ shouts Marcus at the TV.

  Ask the audience, idiot!’ goes his mum.

  ‘It’s B! B! B!’ I shout.

  The fool on the TV chooses A.

  We all throw potato peel at him, even Leah.

  His mum heads off into the kitchen, leaving us to watch the rest of the show. Leah’s on Marcus’s lap, playing with his hair. Just as the final credits roll, Marcus’s dad blasts in, dumping two DJ bags on the floor and diving for the PC.

  ‘Dad, Adele’s stopping over tonight!’ announces Marcus.

  ‘Great,’ says his dad, sticking a pen drive into the PC. ‘Now listen to this track I just laid down. Catch the walking bass line. It’s brill.’

  ‘She’ll be sleeping in Leah’s room,’ Marcus’s mum tells her husband, coming into the living room.

  ‘Excellent. Did she bring earplugs?’

  ‘Marcus has lent me some PJs,’ I say.

  ‘That’s very nice of him. Listen to this, Adele,’ he says, like he’s given up on his family and I’m the only one who will appreciate what he’s done. ‘This bass line, is it cool or is it cool?’

  He plays some plodding music from Before Time. I smile and nod to it politely. Marcus kicks me and shakes his head, meaning, don’t encourage him, but it’s too late. His dad proceeds to play every track he’s recorded, showing off his singing in styles ranging from a Cee Lo growl to a Sam Smith squeak, all of them out of tune. Thank God Marcus’s mum puts a stop to it by saying everybody’s got to sit at the table now, because tea’s ready.

  CHAPTER 18

  HAVE A PLEASANT SLEEPY SLEEP, DARLINK

  Eating at Marcus’s is a unique experience. His dad wants us to eat while listening to The Rivers of Babylon because he likes the lead guitar riff and wants to sample it. His mum nixes that because she is trying to conduct an enquiry into who is stealing all the cooked sausages (neither of them is fessing up). There are big heaps of steaming chilli con carne and mashed potatoes on serving plates. Marcus is bored. He’s shuffled off his shoes and is playing footsie with me under the table. I think he misdirects a foot and strokes his mum’s leg because suddenly he yelps like his mum has whacked him under the table. He glowers at his mum, who smiles smugly with an I-told-you-so look. Leah copies Marcus’s yelp, doing little baby yelps, which has everyone choking on the chilli con carne in laughter.

  ‘This stuff’s not hot enough,’ declares Marcus’s dad.

  ‘Since when did you become an expert on chilli con carne?’ says his mum.

  ‘It’s right up there in the name. It’s “chilli con carne”. Chilli. With meat. Not “Meat with a hint of chilli”. “Chilli. Con carne”.’

  ‘Fair point,’ says his mum. ‘Coolio, here you go. Arriba.’

  She unscrews the chilli shaker and sprinkles the equivalent of two spoonfuls of chilli over his plate.

  She turns to me. ‘How about you? Would you like an extra bit of chilli, Adele?’

  ‘No thanks, Mrs Adenuga,’ I say quickly.

  ‘Call me Gillian. Or Mum. Marcus?’

  ‘Nah, I’ll leave it for now, Gillian,’ says Marcus.

  His mum cuts him a look.

  His dad’s on his own. He looks around at us. ‘Chilli. ...Con carne,’ he says, more hesitantly.

  ‘Bueno. Bon apetita!’ says his wife, waiting.

  He looks at her. Then he looks over at Marcus. Marcus shrugs, in a you-dug-the-hole-Dad-so-you-climb-your-way-out-of-it way. His dad looks at me. I bite my lip so I don’t smile. If there’s anything on my face I’m hoping it’s a Rather-You-Than-Me-But-I -Feel-Your-Pain-Mr-Adenuga look.

  ‘OK,’ he says. ‘.... But there’s no rice!’

  ‘There’s potatoes,’ Marcus’s mum says.

  ‘It’s not the same.’

  ‘It is the same.’

  ‘Right.’ Marcus’s dad’s fork wavers. He’s waiting for intervention, divine or otherwise. None comes. Even Leah has stopped mushing her potatoes through her fingers and is looking at him.

  Mr Adenuga gulps down four mouthfuls in a big rush. ‘There,’ he says, when he’s done it. ‘H’easy. H’Adele, Have you Had a Handsome Hour Horsing H’around with H’our Marcus? Heh?’

  ‘It’s been alright,’ I reply.

  ‘H’excellent. Here’s Hoping you have Happy Hours Horsing H’all H’over H’England. Hoo. Hoo. Hoo.’

  ‘Dad, you’re talking nonsense. Drink some water.’

  ‘So what did you two get up to today?’ asks his mum.

  ‘Nothing,’ mutters Marcus.

  ‘We went to a tattoo shop,’ I say, ‘but don’t worry, we didn’t get any tats.’

  ‘It was down the road,’ Marcus says. ‘We didn’t go into town. Before you ask.’

  Leah starts to draw on her high chair tray, using potato as paint.

  ‘Anybody want pudding?’ Marcus’s dad says. ‘Ice cream. Any flavour so long as it’s vanilla!’ He rushes into the kitchen before anyone has a chance to answer.

  After dinner we watch telly for a while. There’s one long sofa and everyone’s sprawled across it.

  ‘I guess I’ve got to be getting Leah to bed,’ Marcus’s mum goes eventually. ‘Can you run her bath please, Marcus?’

  Marcus says nothing, like that makes him invisible to his mum so she won’t ask him again. Leah is on my chest, her arms in my armpits, clinging to me. Her breathing’s rock steady. ‘I think she’s asleep,’ I say.

  ‘Easy does it then,’ says Mrs Adenuga and she slides
her hands under her daughter and peels her off me. My chest is suddenly cold. Marcus nudges into me. His mum takes Leah upstairs. I guess Marcus’s invisible cloak tactic worked.

  Ten minutes later Mrs Adenuga is down again and taps me on the shoulder. ‘OK, she’s in her cot fast asleep, Adele. I’ve tried to put everything you might need on the bed but ask if there’s anything else. You can take a shower if you want to but don’t stay in it too long. I’m turning in soon and his dad has to do an early morning shift so...’

  Marcus’s dad nods. He’s been very quiet and very still since we ate.

  Mrs Adenuga’s hinting it’s time for me to go to bed. I’m amazed. It’s only 10 o’clock. I get up. I do a little wave to Marcus. ‘Nighty night,’ I say to him. Marcus grunts by way of reply.

  ‘Marcus!’ his mum says, ‘she’s talking to you.’

  ‘Goodnight, Adele, darlink, hope you have a pleasant sleepy sleep,’ Marcus goes.

  ‘That’s better. Manners,’ says his mum. Then, ‘Goodnight Adele. After Adele, it’s your dad, then you Marcus, then me. Chop chop, Adele. And remember, tiptoe. Don’t wake Leah.’

  No pressure then, I think. I ghost upstairs.

  Leah’s room is the smallest and it’s next to the bathroom. I tip-toe in and glance into the cot. She is on her back, arms stretched out at eleven o’clock and one o’clock like she’s directing a plane to fly above her. Marcus’s mum’s laid out a towel, soap and a toothbrush for me on the bed. I grab them, whizz to the bathroom, wet my head under the shower then climb into Marcus’s onesie (it fits, just). I pad out of the bathroom onto the landing.

  Marcus is at the top of the stairs.

  I freeze, embarrassed.

  ‘I wanted to see what you looked like in my PJs,’ Marcus whispers to me, grinning from ear to ear.

  ‘Marcus, get down here, right now!’ his mum blasts from the foot of the stairs.

  Marcus slinks down.

  Has Marcus’s mum’s yell woken up the baby? I think, suddenly worried. I get to our bedroom door. It’s quiet. I creep in. Leah’s still flat on her back, arms at twelve o’clock and three o’clock, like she’s now directing the plane to turn. I’ve crept back across the room and I’m just about to close our door when there’s a rumble of stairs and Marcus’s dad flies past.