The Last Taboo

by Bali Rai

  ‘Well, keep that shit to yourself, bro. Ain’t no need for my brain to even entertain them thoughts, you get me?’

  ‘So what you got to tell me that’s so urgent? I was doin’ my coursework,’ I said.

  Dean grinned even more broadly than before. ‘Come,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you on the way home.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I need to get back, bro. Got enough coursework of my own to do and my dad’s doin’ his nut over it.’

  I shook my head. ‘So you just asked me to walk all this way when you was thinking of heading back?’ I asked.

  ‘Yeah …’

  ‘But you could have just passed by mine on the way home.’

  ‘I could …’ he began, only to trail off, as though someone had cut a string in his brain – the one that was holding his last train of thought.

  ‘You knob.’

  ‘Yeah, and talking of knobs …’ he said, before coming out with a whole load of nasty thoughts about Leanne and what he was going to do with her.

  His dad opened the door and gave us both a funny look. ‘Haven’t you got any homework to do?’ he asked.

  ‘Hello to you an’ all, Mr Ricketts,’ I said, being cheeky.

  ‘Don’t play the fool, David. Your dad told me about the skiving.’

  I looked at Dean and shook my head. ‘I can’t believe it,’ I said to him. ‘Now I’m gonna have to bear the stigma of being the son of a grass – I can’t believe it …’

  ‘We should shave your hair off – see if you’ve got a big letter G as a birthmark – like the anti-Christ—’

  ‘That was six-six-six,’ corrected Mr Ricketts. ‘And you’ll have some serious marks on your backside if you don’t get your work done.’

  I looked at Dean and grinned. ‘Gutted,’ I teased.

  ‘I meant both of you,’ said Mr Ricketts.

  ‘Oh …’ I said, not sure whether he was joking or not.

  We walked into the living room and Dean’s dad sat down. The television was on, showing that millionaire programme, but the sound was turned way down low so that Mr Ricketts could hear the George Clinton CD he was playing. I knew who it was because my old man liked him too – some weirdo old bloke in strange clothes singing about spacemen and freaky girls.

  ‘What you doin’ home anyway?’ asked Dean. ‘I didn’t think your shift was done until late.’

  ‘Got sent home early,’ he said. ‘Something about lack of work …’

  ‘So my old man is home too?’ I asked.

  ‘Yeah, I gave him a lift. That heap of rust he calls a car broke down outside work.’

  ‘Great,’ I said. ‘Not only is he on short hours but the car’s knackered an’ all – he’s gonna be in a shit mood.’

  Mr Ricketts glared at me. ‘That language is not allowed in this house, David.’

  ‘Er … sorry, Mr Ricketts.’

  ‘Check out Mr Hypocrite.’ Dean laughed. ‘Like you never swear, Dad. What about when them BNP shitheads came to the door during the election? You was goin’ mad, effin’ and blindin’.’

  ‘That’s different,’ replied his dad. ‘And I thought I told you to go and do some work …’

  ‘Just goin’ …’ said Dean, ushering me out of the room.

  Up in his bedroom he told me his news and it was a shock. The Sunday league team that he played for, Hillfields, had been drawn against mine in a local league cup competition.

  ‘But you lot got knocked out in the last round,’ I pointed out. ‘So how can you be playing against us on Sunday?’

  ‘The team that beat us …’

  ‘The Red Lion.’

  ‘Yeah – them pussy bwoi – they got suspended for fielding three players who were banned—’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yeah … three of their team were on bans but they played under different names – someone grassed them up to the league,’ he told me.

  ‘Who done that?’ I asked.

  ‘Our coach, Clarky – one of the banned players was sent off for punching him.’

  ‘He punched your coach?’

  ‘Yeah, and Clarky recognized him.’

  ‘That’s bang out of order,’ I said.

  ‘Yep – so you playin’ on Sunday?’ asked Dean.

  ‘I think so …’

  ‘So am I – should be a laugh.’

  I thought about my stupid cousins and their racist attitudes and in my head I disagreed with Dean but I didn’t say anything. Sunday had the potential to turn into a nightmare and I was tempted to ring my cousin Satnam and tell him that I was pulling out.

  ‘You shot it or something?’ Dean asked me.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’re just staring into space like a nutter,’ he pointed out.

  ‘Oh, right – nah, I was just thinking …’

  ‘About how we’re gonna beat you on Sunday?’ laughed Dean.

  ‘Yeah – dream on,’ I said.

  When I got home I rang Satnam to see if I was in the team.

  ‘Sub at least, little brother – why?’

  ‘I heard the Red Lion got kicked out,’ I told him.

  ‘Yep – we’re playin’ that Hillfields team.’

  ‘The one my mate plays for,’ I said.

  ‘You on about that Dean?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘So you lot better watch your mouths …’

  Satnam laughed. ‘Don’t worry about it. We’ll be too busy beatin’ them to be callin’ them names,’ he told me.

  ‘You’d better,’ I warned. ‘I ain’t havin’ no one dissing my best mate – I don’t care who they are.’

  ‘Relax, cos. What could go wrong?’

  Everything, I thought to myself after I’d put down the phone. I couldn’t see how my cousins and the rest of the team were gonna behave themselves when faced with an almost entirely black team. They were idiots. I should have been excited about playing in the cup against my best mate and his team but I wasn’t. In fact I wasn’t looking forward to the weekend at all.

  SIMRAN

  TYRONE LOOKED AT me and shrugged. ‘We could go get something to eat,’ he suggested. ‘I’m starving.’

  ‘Where?’ I asked.

  ‘There’s this really good place on Market Street – does the best fry-ups in town.’

  ‘Fry-ups – you mean sausages and bacon and stuff like that?’ I turned up my nose.

  ‘Yeah – they got salads and stuff too but a growing boy like me needs his calories,’ he told me.

  ‘You’ll end up fat with blocked arteries,’ I warned him jokingly.

  ‘Never – I play football three times a week. Burn that shit right off.’

  ‘Why eat it in the first place?’ I asked.

  ‘Better than a burger,’ he said, grinning.

  I watched a group of young girls walk past us as we stood by the clock tower in the city centre. They were dressed like clubbers, in short skirts, crop tops and full make-up. I wanted to ask them where the party was but I understood why they were dressed that way. Saturday afternoon in town was full of girls dressed to the nines, trying to catch the attention of the lads wandering around in groups. It was like a mating ritual or something. I smiled to myself.

  ‘You smilin’ at anything in particular?’ asked Tyrone.

  ‘No …’ I replied. ‘Just thinking about something …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Oh, nothing important …’

  ‘Well, if it’s not that important can we go and get some food?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah – but I’m not hungry. I’ll just have a coffee or something.’

  ‘Come on then,’ he said impatiently.

  “We walked down the High Street, past a load of shops and then cut into an area called The Lanes, and on through a shopping arcade with a shoe shop at one end and a retro clothes store at the other. The retro store had a window display and I stopped to look at a bag that caught my eye.

  ‘Can’t we come back and look at that?’ moaned Tyrone.

 
; ‘Why don’t you go on ahead?’ I suggested. ‘I know the place you mean so I’ll catch you up. Just order me a drink.’

  Tyrone looked unsure for a moment but then he nodded. ‘OK – but don’t be too long,’ he said.

  ‘Oh my God – possessive already,’ I joked.

  ‘Nah!’ he protested, before realizing that I was having a laugh at his expense.

  ‘See you in a bit,’ I said, walking into the shop.

  The girl working behind the counter didn’t look like she was old enough to be there and she obviously bought all her clothes from where she worked. She wore orange flared jeans and a short shirt that was pink with bright red flowers printed on it. Her hair was tied up on her head and she had loads of piercings. She looked good with it all too – like it was her own, personal style, which she wore well. I smiled at her and asked how much the bag was.

  ‘Thirty pounds – it’s a nineteen seventies original,’ she told me.

  ‘Don’t think I can afford that,’ I admitted. ‘What’s the logo on the front?’

  She told me that it was a silhouette of the three actresses from Charlie’s Angels – the original TV show, not the Hollywood remake. I picked it up to get a closer look, realizing that it was a bit battered around the edges.

  ‘I think I’ll leave it,’ I said. ‘But I might have a look around.’

  ‘Help yourself,’ said the girl with a smile. ‘Just shout if you need anything …’

  She spoke with a slight lisp, which I realized was due to a stud that she had in her tongue. I wondered whether it hurt but didn’t ask her. She probably got asked the same question about ten times a day. Instead I walked over to the clothes and looked through them, trying to find something that went with the clothes I already had. In the end I found a fitted white shirt with a gorgeous flower design on it. It was only ten pounds so I decided to buy it, visualizing in my head the way it would go with three outfits that I had.

  ‘That’s lovely,’ said the girl. ‘I was thinking of buying it myself.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, feeling guilty for some stupid reason. ‘I don’t have to take it …’

  The girl shook her head and smiled. ‘Don’t be silly –and besides, it suits your colouring better than mine. It’ll make your lovely skin tone stand out.’

  I blushed, not knowing how to reply.

  ‘I could never be your colour – I go all red and blotchy in the sun.’

  ‘I was born this way,’ I said.

  ‘Lucky you,’ replied the girl. ‘Tell you what – give me a fiver for it.’

  ‘Really?’ I said, surprised.

  ‘Yeah …’

  ‘But won’t you get into trouble with your boss?’ I asked, worried.

  The girl laughed. ‘No – it’s my mum’s shop.’

  ‘Oh – thank you!’ I gushed.

  ‘No problem. And come back again,’ she said, handing me a five-pound note I hadn’t been expecting.

  ‘Yeah – I will,’ I said. ‘My best mate would love it in here.’

  ‘See ya …’

  ‘Yeah, bye,’ I said, before walking out of the shop with a spring in my step.

  There was something really great about complete strangers who were kind for no reason. It made me feel happy about the world. I smiled to myself as I walked through St Martin’s Square, on my way to meet my lovely boyfriend. The smile lasted until just after I’d left the square and passed a small sweetshop. Then it disappeared.

  Up ahead of me, standing by a pub, was Tyrone, talking to some friends. Only that wasn’t the reason why I’d lost my smile. Walking past him and towards me were my uncle Rajbir and his wife, Jagwant, Ruby’s parents. I looked at Tyrone, who hadn’t seen me, and then back at my relatives. I knew that I was going to have to talk to them but I was praying that Tyrone wouldn’t see me and come over. And I never pray. My uncle half smiled when he got close to me and stopped.

  ‘Hello, Simran,’ he said in Punjabi. He was wearing a red baseball cap with matching shell suit. He looked stupid, especially as he was so short and round.

  ‘Hi, Uncle-ji.’

  My aunt said hello too, only in English, and then she asked me what I was doing.

  ‘Just shopping,’ I said. ‘And going to meet a friend.’

  ‘Which friend?’ asked my aunt, acting all suspicious.

  ‘Er … Lisa,’ I lied, hoping that the skinny, ugly witch would disappear in a puff of smoke. And to cap it all, my aunt was wearing a shell suit too; only hers was purple. I had to get me a new family.

  ‘The goreeh from school?’ she said, just like I knew she would.

  ‘Yeah – she’s waiting for me …’

  ‘You should be careful wandering around town on your own,’ said my uncle, still in Punjabi.

  ‘It’s not a problem,’ I said, looking past him at Tyrone, who was still talking to his mates.

  ‘Maybe not for you but people will talk,’ continued my uncle. ‘And there are too many stupid boys around …’

  He turned and looked over at Tyrone and his friends and then back at me.

  ‘Bad people always hanging around,’ he added.

  ‘I’ll be fine, Uncle-ji,’ I said, being really polite but answering him in English, a language that he spoke well enough.

  Suddenly I saw Tyrone looking right in my direction. I gulped down air as my stomach flipped somersaults.

  ‘I’d better go,’ I said in a hurry.

  ‘Ruby tells me that she wants to stay at your house,’ said my aunt.

  I looked at her and wondered what she was on about. Then it dawned on me. Ruby wanted to go to the bhangra gig and had used me as cover – without asking me first. Not that it mattered. I automatically went into sly-mode, covering for my cousin as always.

  ‘Er … yeah. I’m having a girls’ night,’ I said, praying that Ruby hadn’t said something else, but my prayer was in vain.

  ‘Oh – she told me that it was Priti’s birthday and that you were going to Pizza Hut.’

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Tyrone begin to walk towards me. My heart started to race.

  ‘Er … yeah – we’re gonna do that and then we’re going back to my house to have a sleepover,’ I lied.

  ‘Well, maybe I will call your mother,’ said my aunt.

  She never used my mother’s name. It was always ‘your mother’ to us kids and ‘your wife’ to my dad. It was a sign of disrespect, one that wasn’t obvious but was still there. The stupid cow.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, giving her a false smile. ‘Call her. She knows all about it …’

  I knew that my mum would read between the lines when my aunt called and not let me down. She was cool like that. And anyway I had more pressing concerns. Tyrone was approaching fast, a big goofy grin on his face. I couldn’t risk him talking to me in front of Ruby’s parents. I had to think fast.

  ‘I’ve gotta run,’ I blurted out.

  ‘But—’ began my aunt.

  ‘Lisa’s on her own, waiting for me,’ I interrupted. ‘And you know what town is like – all those bad people …’

  I wanted to smile at the way I had used their stupid prejudices against them but I didn’t have time. Tyrone was getting closer.

  ‘Gotta go – bye!’ I shouted as I turned round and ducked down Cank Street.

  ‘Yes … goodbye,’ my aunt said after me.

  I still wasn’t in the clear. If Tyrone shouted after me I was dead. I half walked, half ran down the street and into a delicatessen and coffee shop. Once I was inside I looked out into the street, praying that my uncle and aunt hadn’t followed my route. They hadn’t. Instead I got a very strange look from Tyrone as he entered the deli.

  ‘What’s up with you?’ he asked.

  ‘Huh?’ I replied, playing dumb.

  ‘You saw me and ran off.’

  ‘Saw you where?’ I asked.

  ‘When you were talking to that Asian couple …’ He gave me another funny look.

  ‘Didn’t see you,’ I said, lying and
feeling instantly guilty about it.

  ‘You must be blind then,’ he replied.

  ‘Like a bat – didn’t you know?’ I said, smiling and hoping that he’d leave it at that. He did.

  ‘Bats ain’t blind,’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Bats – technically they aren’t blind. They don’t see that well but they ain’t blind – and they have this radar that—’

  ‘I thought you were hungry,’ I said, interrupting him.

  ‘I am … but I ain’t eating in here – it’s all sandwiches and salad …’

  ‘Well then, let’s go to that other place …’

  He gave me yet another strange look. ‘Man – you always this funny?’ he asked.

  ‘Mad as a hatter,’ I said, grinning and then giving him a kiss.

  As we left, the assistant gave us a dirty look but I didn’t mind. I checked for signs of my aunt and uncle but they’d gone. I gave Tyrone another kiss and my heart finally stopped trying to jump out of my mouth. I’d had a close shave and it didn’t feel good. Tyrone just looked at me like I had two heads.

  ‘Nutter,’ he said, and grinned at me.

  SIMRAN

  ‘YOU’LL CHOKE IF you carry on eating like that.’ Tyrone shoved another forkful of bacon, sausage and egg into his mouth, ignoring me.

  ‘And it’s not very attractive,’ I added.

  ‘Mmmffmmnn,’ he mumbled, spitting out a bit of egg.

  ‘Ew!’

  He chewed the rest of his mouthful before he spoke again. ‘I’m hungry,’ he told me, as if that made his messy eating OK.

  ‘You’re telling me …’

  ‘Just drink your coffee,’ he told me, preparing another mound of food.

  ‘I like it cold – it tastes better.’

  He swallowed again. ‘I’ve got a football match tomorrow,’ he told me.

  ‘And …?’ I asked, pretending that I wasn’t interested.

  ‘Well, you did ask me what I was doing,’ he reminded me, not that I remembered asking.

  ‘When?’

  ‘Yesterday – on the phone. Summat about goin’ to the cinema,’ he said.

  ‘Oh yeah … Well, we can go afterwards – if you want.’

  He shrugged, something he did quite a lot. ‘Depends on how knackered I get. It’s a cup game and we didn’t know we were playing until yesterday.’