by Bali Rai
‘No they ain’t,’ added Wayne. ‘They ain’t no darkies …’
‘But it’s black people’s music,’ Mikey had told Wayne.
Later on, in the playground, Mandip had asked Mikey if he could listen to black people’s music too.
‘Yeah!’ Mikey had told him. ‘You an’ me is both black …’
‘But I’m brown,’ Mandip had said.
‘So? My dad says that the NF hate us all anyway, so we’re all black – that’s what my dad says.’
Mandip grinned as he remembered smiling at what his best friend had said. The sudden sharp pain in his ear brought him back to the present.
‘Are you listening?’ his mum asked him.
‘Yes …’
‘Good – it’s going to snow today so take your hat and gloves too – and take your dad his tea.’
In the living room twenty minutes later, after his youngest son had washed and dressed, Gulbir Singh listened to the news reports on his radio. Leicester City were playing at home, according to the man on the radio, and Gulbir swore.
‘What’s up, Dad?’ asked his youngest son.
‘Nothing,’ lied Gulbir, even though he knew that every home game brought trouble for all the non-white traders on Leicester market. For a moment he considered taking the day off but the thought lasted only just long enough for him to swear at it too.
‘Come on!’ he told Mandip. ‘Time to go …’
Mandip ran into the kitchen and hugged his mum. She handed him a package of paratha wrapped in brown paper, and then followed him out onto the street, where it was still dark. Gulbir Singh’s van chugged and gurgled and spat out white smoke as it warmed up. From down the street he heard someone hail his dad.
‘Yes –I, Missa Singh!’
‘OK,’ he heard his dad reply in his heavily accented English.
‘Everyt’ing irie?’ asked the tall black man, his eyes half closed and a can of Skol 45 in his hands.
‘Rass class, Winston …’ replied Gulbir, climbing into the van.
‘Niceness …’ agreed Winston, before ruffling Mandip’s hair. ‘Easy, likkle Missa Singh …’
Mandip blushed and climbed in beside his dad as the black man walked on down to his own door. He turned to his dad.
‘Why is that man drunk so early?’ he asked.
Gulbir smiled. ‘He’s just coming home from a party,’ he explained, unsure whether his youngest would understand.
‘Must have been an early party,’ replied a confused Mandip.
Gulbir chuckled to himself. ‘Or a very late one,’ he said, sliding the door shut and letting off the handbrake. When his dad turned on the radio Mandip heard his favourite song, ‘OK Fred’ by Errol Dunkley, and sang along.
SIMRAN
‘SO, AT LEAST walk back with me,’ pleaded Tyrone. I watched his eyes sparkle and nodded. ‘All right then – but it doesn’t mean anything …’ I insisted.
‘Yeah – it does.’ He grinned. ‘It means that you’re warming up, sister.’
‘Whatever …’ I replied, sounding like an annoying American teenager in a Hollywood movie.
It was Monday lunchtime and I had walked down to the row of shops by our school. I’d been buying a new notepad in the newsagent’s when Tyrone walked in with two of his mates. We’d stood and chatted for about half an hour and now we were heading back. Tyrone walked in a confident way, like he was completely sure of himself, which I kind of liked. His friends had disappeared and I asked him if he had told them to leave again.
‘Yeah, I did,’ he told me.
‘Why?’ I asked.
‘’Cos I wanted to be alone with you … same as last time,’ he admitted.
‘I’m not worth it,’ I said. ‘I’m not looking for a boyfriend.’
‘Not yet,’ he replied. ‘But when you are – I’m first in line …’
I smiled at him for his arrogance. It was a confident, appealing arrogance. ‘And what makes you think that?’ I asked.
‘Perseverance. I’m the one that’s doing all the running …’
‘But that doesn’t guarantee you first place,’ I teased.
‘So what does?’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I joked. ‘Flowers, chocolates, a nice diamond?’
He shook his head. ‘Might be out of my reach – that diamond …’
‘Well, there you go then,’ I said.
‘You’re just playin’, sister.’
‘Maybe I am,’ I replied. ‘But not with you …’
‘Nah! How can someone so pretty be so tough?’ he asked me.
I blushed and looked away, despite the fact that it felt great to be called pretty. I’d never thought of myself as pretty. I knew that I wasn’t ugly but I didn’t like my nose and my eyes were too big. And my hair had this strange wave in it that I couldn’t get rid of no matter how hard I tried. And even though people called my shape voluptuous, I didn’t see it as a compliment. As far as I could see my bum was too big. But Tyrone was winning brownie points. Just not enough to get him what he wanted.
‘I’m actually a complete bitch,’ I told him. ‘I can kill men with one stare.’
‘I used to know this girl once …’ began Tyrone.
My heart sank for a split second. I thought he was going to tell me about an ex-girlfriend and I felt jealous. Weirdo girl or what?
‘Could knock man out with one whiff of her armpit,’ he finished.
Relieved, I began to grin. ‘That’s nasty,’ I said.
He laughed. ‘Yeah – she was.’
‘That’s a bit mean,’ I said.
Tyrone looked at me to see if I was joking so I put on a stern face. ‘I was only kidding,’ he said quickly, thinking that he was going to have to dig himself out of a hole. I waited a few moments before grinning again.
‘Gotcha!’ I said, as we turned down the road that led to my school.
‘You’re too harsh, sister,’ he said.
‘I gotta go, anyway,’ I replied, ignoring him.
‘Just like that?’ he asked. ‘Not even a peck on the cheek for all the joke I’ve been runnin’ since we started walking back?’ He shook his head as though he was gutted.
‘Here,’ I said, digging in my bag for a mouldy old half-eaten Mars bar that I knew was there, and holding it out for him, ‘you can have this as a token of my esteem …’
He took the chocolate and looked at it as though it was some strange new species of animal. ‘You know what?’ he said. ‘I think I’ll leave it.’
‘You can’t now,’ I told him. ‘You have to eat it if you want to talk to me again …’
I was only joking but Tyrone’s eyes sparkled and a beautiful grin spread across his face. He was so cute.
‘OK – here’s the deal, sister,’ he told me. ‘I’ll eat this … this t’ing – whatever it is – but you have to give me your digits—’
‘My what?’
‘Yer digits, sister – for your phone …’ he explained.
‘Oh – you want my phone number?’
‘Yeah – that’s what I just said.’
‘No you didn’t.’ I grinned. ‘You were on about my digits …’
‘I know, but—’
‘And we’ve not known each other long enough for me to just get my digits out – what sort of girl do you think I am?’
‘But I was on about—’ he began, until he saw me smile. ‘Piss-taker …’
‘Won’t get my number by calling me names, will you?’ I pointed out.
Tyrone looked at the stale chocolate bar. ‘So we got a deal or what?’ he asked.
I thought about it for a moment. If he was willing to eat a rank old chocolate bar just to get my number then he deserved to have it. I nodded. ‘Deal.’
Tyrone looked at me, smiled and then unpicked the wrapper from the chocolate. It took a while because it was firmly stuck, but eventually he had a golfball-sized dollop of melted and re-formed Mars bar with bits of fluff on it in his hand. He looked at me again and t
hen shoved it in his mouth, chewing it up quickly and swallowing hard.
‘I can’t believe you just ate that,’ I said, beginning to laugh.
He finished swallowing and shrugged. ‘’S only chocolate – what’s the worst that could happen?’ he asked.
‘But it’s been in my bag since last year,’ I told him, lying through my teeth. It was only about three months old. Although that was bad enough, I suppose.
For a moment Tyrone began to look a bit green, but then he remembered the deal and grinned. ‘Phone number,’ he reminded me.
I got my phone out and saw the time. ‘Shit! I’m late …’
‘Still need them digits,’ he insisted.
I shouted out my number as I ran off towards school, feeling like I was on top of the world, not even making sure that he’d heard it right. Though, deep down inside, I wanted him to have it more and more. I was getting hooked and I needed to talk to Lisa to find out what she thought about it all.
We spoke after school but Lisa was in a hurry to get home and didn’t really listen, not that I minded. Instead we said goodbye at my drive and I decided to spend some quality time with my books. I had a heap of work to do, but when I actually sat at my desk I couldn’t concentrate at all. All I could think about was Tyrone and whether I would be playing with fire if I went out with him. In the end I decided to research the subject with my parents, only not directly. I planned to test their attitudes by asking sly questions when they were off-guard. I spent the rest of the evening on the Net, instant messaging my cousin Ruby and another friend, Paula, Dean’s sister, waiting and hoping for my mobile to buzz and tell me that I had a message. I didn’t let on about Tyrone to either of them, although I thought about speaking to Paula about the whole black/Asian thing. In the end though I chickened out, deciding to leave it for another time.
SIMRAN
LISA SAT DOWN on my bed and put the cup of tea that I’d made for her on my bedside table. I looked at her and wished that my legs were as long as hers. She was wearing blue, boot-cut jeans with a tight white T-shirt; and K-Swiss with a reversible red tongue. Her light brown hair was piled on top of her head, which did two things: it made her slim, athletic figure and perfectly symmetrical face look even better and me much more envious.
‘How many texts?’ she asked me for the fourth time.
‘Ten,’ I repeated.
‘Ten?’
‘Yeah … that’s what I said – about fifty times …’
She grinned at me. ‘There’s no need to exaggerate now, is there?’ she joked.
‘Well – you know what I mean. I only gave him my number yesterday …’
‘Well, he is a boy,’ Lisa reminded me.
‘And?’
‘They don’t have control over those urges the way we do. Everything has to be today. What do you think wanking’s all about?’
I shook my head. Trust Lisa to lower the tone – the dirty cow.
‘He’s just interested, that’s all,’ I told her.
‘You’re telling me. So, are you gonna go out with him?’
I shook my head again. ‘Don’t think so,’ I admitted. ‘He’s really fit and all that but I’m not sure …’
‘Why not?’ she asked.
I wondered how to tell her what was on my mind. In a way that wouldn’t make me out to be racist or anything.
‘Erm … it’s just that …’ I began.
‘That he’s fit, funny and wants to go out with you? Yeah, I can see how that is a major problem, Simmy.’
‘I know all that,’ I sighed. ‘It’s just that I can’t, I don’t think—’
‘Speak English, you witch.’
I took a sip of tea and tried to think of a clever way of saying what I wanted to say. But nothing clever sprang to mind and in the end I decided to be honest.
‘It’s because he’s black,’ I admitted, instantly feeling ashamed of myself. Not because I was bothered by his skin colour; because I was worried what my family might say about it – my extended family.
Lisa gave me a funny look and then looked away for a second. Long enough to tell me that she wasn’t happy with what I’d just said.
‘I’m not a racist,’ I insisted. ‘Honestly.’
‘But you just said that you won’t see him ’cos he’s black,’ she pointed out. ‘Sounds kind of dubious to me …’
‘It’s not about me,’ I told her.
‘What is it about then?’ she asked.
‘My family …’
‘But your dad is best mates with a black man,’ she reminded me.
She was right too. My dad’s best friend was a man called Michael Ricketts – Uncle Mikey. Our families were so close that my brother’s best mate was Uncle Mikey’s son Dean, and his daughter Paula, who was older than me, was a good friend of mine. I had grown up with Dean and Paula. We went round for dinner all the time, as a family, or they came to us. And my mum and Aunty Carleen often went out together. But I wasn’t talking about my parents and I told Lisa so.
‘So who are you on about, you weirdo?’ she asked.
‘The rest of them – uncles, aunts, cousins …’
She looked at me like I was mad. ‘But what do they matter – it’s not like they’re proper family, are they?’ she said.
‘They are in my parents’ culture …’
And what – they’re all racists so you have to be one too?’ she asked.
‘It’s not like that,’ I protested. ‘I’m not like them. It’s just that there’s this Asian thing—’
‘Being racist?’
‘No … not just that. It’s like this inbuilt thing that some Asians have …’ I tried to explain.
‘Just because Tyrone’s black?’ She shook her head in disbelief.
I shrugged and tried desperately to think of that clever way of explaining but it still didn’t come to me.
‘It’s the same with different religions too,’ I began. ‘Muslims go out with Muslims, Sikhs with Sikhs – that kind of thing.’
Lisa raised an eyebrow. ‘But what about Geeta – that girl from Year Eleven? She’s a Hindu and she was seeing a Muslim lad—’
‘Yeah – and what happened to her?’ I asked.
‘I dunno – what did happen?’ replied Lisa.
‘Her old man found out and her brothers beat up her boyfriend.’
Lisa tried to grin and lighten the mood. ‘OK then –maybe that wasn’t the best example in the world, but—’
I shook my head and cut her off. ‘Most of my family would go mad if I went out with Tyrone – it’s just something that doesn’t happen very much.’
‘I still don’t get it,’ Lisa told me. ‘He’s just a boyfriend. It ain’t like you’re going to marry the idiot …’
‘My uncles would see it as dishonourable and give my parents a load of shit about it,’ I said.
‘So?’
‘So – it’s not worth the grief,’ I added.
‘Man – you Asians are weird,’ she half joked.
‘Oh shut up, BNP girl.’
‘Well, what do you expect me to say? If a white person said what you’ve just said, they’d get slated and you know it,’ she pointed out.
‘I know. I’m not saying that I think like my uncles but …’
Lisa shook her head again. ‘But nothing, Simmy. The minute you start excusing racism—’
‘I’m not racist!’ I snapped.
‘Whoa, Nelly! No need to get angry.’
I looked at her and shrugged. ‘Sorry …’
‘You should be …’
‘Lisa!’
‘Well –I’m still a bit shocked. If you want to go out on a date with Tyrone, you should. Forget what your extended family think. Who cares?’ she said.
‘I know you’re right but I just can’t stop thinking about what they would say,’ I admitted.
‘I don’t get it. I wouldn’t think twice about going out with someone who was a different colour to me if I liked them. And my parents w
ouldn’t care either.’
I sighed. ‘Oh, I don’t know what to do,’ I told her.
I spoke to Priti, a friend from school, later that evening, thinking that she would say the same things Lisa had. But I was in for a shock. I was sitting on my bed, looking at the blank screen on my PC as I spoke to her.
‘Don’t do it,’ she said.
‘Huh?’
‘Don’t do it.’
‘But I thought that you’d—’
‘Simran, don’t be so naïve – you know how things work …’
‘Yeah, I do,’ I agreed. ‘But why should I listen to what people say – surely if I like him and I want to go out with him, I can?’
‘All you’ll get is mountains of grief from other Asian people – especially lads – and all for some stupid fling that probably won’t last anyway.’
‘You don’t know that,’ I said.
‘Yes I do. My friend’s cousin got pregnant by a black lad and she was kicked out of the house.’
‘Yeah, but my parents ain’t like that,’ I told her.
‘You’re definitely being naïve, Simmy. I told you – it’s just not worth the grief. And believe me – you’ll get shit – loads of it.’
‘But I really like him,’ I said.
‘So? There’s plenty of other lads about …’
‘But he’s not other lads,’ I protested.
‘Look – I’m not bein’ funny but black/Asian things don’t work … it’s not racism – it’s just …’
We went on like that for another twenty minutes and then I got another text from Tyrone. I rang off and looked at it, smiling as I read. I didn’t stop thinking about it all evening, even as I was trying to go to sleep. I really wanted to go out with Tyrone, at least for one date, but something was holding me back. I thought about asking my mum but realized that my original idea was the best way forward. I would test the water first.
DAVID
MY DAD EYED me with suspicion. ‘So you weren’t part of that fight at all then?’ he asked.
I shook my head. ‘I didn’t know anything about it until you rang to find out where I was,’ I replied.
‘Oh yeah,’ he remembered. ‘You told me that you and Dean were bunkin’ off …’
