The Last Taboo

by Bali Rai

  ‘Never mind them,’ said Dean. ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘I just decided not to play for them any more,’ I told him.

  I wanted to tell him the truth but I wasn’t sure how. I knew that he wouldn’t blame me for my team’s attitude but I still didn’t want to admit that I had been a part of their bullshit. Besides which I had a feeling that Suky, Raji, Satnam and the rest of them would show how bigoted they were at the pub anyway. After all, they’d already done it on the pitch.

  ‘Was it because they’re a bunch of racist bastards?’ asked Dean, reading my mind.

  ‘Yeah … I mean, I don’t even think they really know what they’re on about – you get me? It’s just that they’re so stupid they pick the most obvious things to say to people …’

  ‘They called me a monkey all the way through the game,’ said the tall lad.

  ‘See? I can’t play with them, man,’ I replied.

  Dean looked at his teammate and something passed between them. Then he stopped in his tracks. ‘You see how rude I am, bro?’ he said.

  ‘What you on about?’ I asked, as we all came to a stop about twenty metres from the pub entrance.

  ‘I ain’t even introduced you two yet.’

  I looked at the tall lad and shrugged. ‘Any friend of yours an’ all that,’ I told Dean, but he shook his head.

  ‘Nah, man – this is my blood, blood – you get me?’ he said.

  I did but I wasn’t sure anyone else would have.

  ‘This lanky bwoi is my cousin – Tyrone,’ he told me.

  ‘Easy,’ I said, smiling.

  ‘An’ this here,’ he added, turning to Tyrone,’ is my other family … David.’

  Tyrone stuck out a balled fist and I did the same, touching his with mine.

  ‘I heard enough shit about you, man,’ said Tyrone. ‘You two are like joined at the hip or summat …’

  ‘Since we was babies,’ said Dean proudly. ‘We’s like fish an’ chips, unnerstan’?’

  I looked at Tyrone and we both burst out laughing.

  ‘As long as you is the fish, bruv,’ I said through my laughter. ‘I ain’t into smellin’ like no haddock, you get me?’

  ‘Ah – rest yuhself … you know what I mean …’ replied Dean.

  ‘Like salt an’ pepper, cos?’ asked Tyrone, taking the piss.

  ‘Or left and right foot?’ I added.

  ‘Both of you can go suck my—’ began Dean, only to stop mid-sentence as a couple of fit girls walked by.

  ‘Yes, ladies …’ He grinned.

  The girls looked at him and giggled, walking away. One of them turned round and gave me a look, a big smile on her face. I smiled back. I recognized her from somewhere but couldn’t recall where it was.

  ‘Nah!’ laughed Tyrone, mocking Dean. ‘They diss you and give David here some kinda look.’

  ‘Nah, nah, nah. They was checkin’ me out,’ insisted Dean, even though he knew he was wrong.

  ‘In yer dreams, cos,’ said Tyrone.

  We walked into the pub and found the rest of the Hillfields team. To do this we had to walk past my cousins and I kept my head down as we passed by, ignoring them. But Satnam grabbed my arm.

  ‘What you doin’?’ he asked me.

  ‘Havin’ a drink with my mates,’ I told him.

  ‘We’re your mates,’ he told me. ‘How many times we gotta tell you that?’

  ‘I ain’t interested,’ I replied.

  ‘Look, man. I’m sorry about all that shit from earlier but it don’t mean nothing. It’s just banter – you know how it goes …’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘I know how it goes but it don’t go that way for me, you get me?’

  Satnam put his arm around me. ‘Come on – you an’ me are family. Ain’t nothing can change that,’ he insisted.

  ‘Whatever – don’t mean we have to be friends,’ I said.

  ‘But you’re still part of the team,’ he told me, not listening.

  ‘Not no more I ain’t. You can stick yer team.’

  He let go of me, turned, put his pint down on the bar and then turned back to me. ‘I ain’t fuckin’ wit’ you now!’ he snapped. ‘I’m older than you and you best listen when I say—’

  ‘Go fuck yourself,’ I replied, walking over to join Dean.

  Satnam said a few things in Punjabi – things I ignored because I didn’t want to fight my own cousin, no matter how much I disliked him.

  ‘What was all that about?’ asked Dean as I rejoined him and his mates.

  ‘Nothing,’ I lied, taking the Coke he’d got for me.

  Dean introduced me to one of his coaches, Simon. I said that I was looking for a new team and he told me to come to a training session the following week. The team was looking for new players and he said that Dean had mentioned me before. Simon bought us another drink and told me that he would see me in the week.

  We walked over with Tyrone to play on a fruit machine in the entrance to a conservatory attached to the side of the main pub; we had to move every now and then as people walked in and out. We’d been playing for about ten minutes when Raji and Suky Mann kicked off. The first I saw of it was when Raji shoved past Tyrone, calling him a monkey in Punjabi. I span round to face him and told him to get lost.

  ‘Fuck off, you traitor,’ he spat at me.

  Dean played another round on the machine and then joined in. ‘Why don’t you just back off wit’ yer fat belly?’ he told Raji.

  Suky stepped between the two of them and shoved Dean back into the fruit machine. In my head things went into slow motion as Tyrone smacked Suky in the mouth. Raji jumped on Tyrone and they hit the ground, catching a table as they fell. The students at the table screamed as glasses and ashtrays smashed. I turned and saw Suky punch Dean straight on the nose and I felt my arms take on a life of their own.

  I grabbed Suky and shoved him away and out of the side entrance to the conservatory, into the car park. He tried to get his hands free from the hold I had on him but I leaned back and head-butted him, breaking his nose. The cracking sound nearly made me puke and I had to let him go. He fell to the floor and put his hands to the bloody mess of his face.

  That was when I felt the punch. It caught me on the back of the head and sent me crashing into Suky. I pushed him out of the way and sprang to my feet to see who had hit me. It was Satnam, my cousin. I swore at him and charged, shoving him into the door. He pushed me back but I managed to send an uppercut into his chin.

  Then all hell broke loose. Both teams flooded into the car park, hitting each other with fists, feet and bottles. The landlord and two of the bar staff ran out too, trying to stop the fight, but they didn’t have the strength. In the end the landlord took out his mobile and called the police and everyone did a runner. In the midst of the fighting I managed to grab Dean and our bags; then we set off up London Road towards the roundabout. When we got to Stanley Road we turned left and ran as fast as we could, hearing the police sirens going off in the distance. We didn’t stop running until we got to Evington Road, resting outside the Picnic Kebab shop.

  ‘What happened to Tyrone?’ I asked Dean, after I’d got my breath back.

  ‘Don’t worry about him,’ Dean replied. ‘I saw him and Simon and the rest running for some cars. They’ll be fine. I’ll bell him in a bit …’

  ‘That was fuckin’ crazy,’ I said.

  ‘You’re telling me,’ he replied. ‘Come on – we better jet. Them coppers are gonna be looking all over the place.’

  ‘You OK?’ I asked him.

  ‘Cool. Might have a few bruises, but that’s life.’

  ‘I think I broke Suky’s nose,’ I admitted.

  ‘That the twat you went through the door with?’ asked Dean.

  I nodded. ‘He’s Raji Mann’s brother,’ I added.

  ‘Great,’ replied Dean. ‘You know this is gonna lead to more shit, don’t you?’

  I nodded again.

  ‘Long as we got each other’s back,’ he said.


  ‘Always, bro,’ I told him.

  We took a few more breaths and then walked as fast as we could towards home. I spent the entire walk trying to accept that my own cousin had punched me. Even though we’d fallen out, it was the last thing I’d expected. I was part sad and part angry but I tried not to show it, and when we reached Dean’s road I told him that I’d call him later. Then I walked home, trying not to get too angry.

  SIMRAN

  TYRONE LOOKED LIKE he’d been in a fight with a sledgehammer when I saw him the following Wednesday. I was waiting outside the pool hall for him and when he first walked up to me I thought he was someone else. His left eye was swollen so badly, it was only just open, and he had a bump the size of a golf ball on his forehead. I stood and looked at him and my heart started to pound. Tears welled up in my eyes.

  ‘What happened?’ I asked.

  ‘Got in a fight,’ he told me, like he wasn’t bothered.

  ‘When?’

  ‘At the football.’

  I looked into his face to see if he was hiding something from me. He hadn’t told me about the fight when he rang me on Sunday to say he couldn’t meet up with me that evening. He held my gaze for moment and then looked away.

  ‘You’re lying,’ I said, hoping that he wouldn’t get pissed off with me.

  ‘It was nuttin’,’ he replied. ‘Some Asian bwoi called me some names and I shot it and he kicked me in the head – it happens.’

  I gave him a quizzing look. ‘What did this lad say?’ I asked, although I was sure I knew.

  ‘Just stuff,’ he said.

  ‘Racial stuff?’

  ‘Nah – man was just trash talkin’ … I told you – it happens.’

  ‘But you wouldn’t have made a point of saying the lad was Asian unless he had a go at your colour,’ I said.

  Tyrone smiled. Or at least he tried to.

  ‘You some kind of mind reader?’ he asked me.

  ‘Just tell me what he said,’ I insisted.

  ‘He called me a monkey, a nigger and a kalluh,’ he admitted.

  I smiled at the way he’d pronounced ‘kalah’ even though I was impressed that he knew what it meant.

  ‘It’s kalah,’ I corrected. ‘How’d you know what it means?’

  ‘Ain’t the first time I’ve heard it – and anyway, I got me some Asian mates, you know.’

  I took his hand and squeezed it. He started to pull away but then stopped. As I stood there, looking at him and feeling sad and guilty and pissed off, all at the same time, a couple of young lads walked past, sniggering when they saw Tyrone’s face.

  ‘Yuh get beat up?’ asked one. He was wearing a hoodie with a cap underneath, like some kind of poster boy for an ASBO.

  ‘Fuck off,’ snapped Tyrone.

  ‘No need to get wound up, bro,’ said the other one. He was wearing drainpipe jeans and Nike Shox that looked like boats. I wanted to ask him where his legs had gone but Tyrone beat me to it.

  ‘Listen, you skinny, no-leg, no-pubes twat – either you can move on or I can give you some of what I got,’ he threatened.

  ‘Just askin’,’ said the first one, looking scared.

  ‘Yeah – sorry, bro,’ added the other.

  ‘Just get lost – I’m trying to chat to my girl …’

  Both of them nodded and then the hooded one smirked. ‘She’s fine,’ he told Tyrone.

  For a second I thought Tyrone was going to get angry but he just smiled and shook his head.

  ‘Cheeky likkle raas …’

  The lads walked away without saying another word, as though the conversation hadn’t even happened.

  ‘Little bastards,’ Tyrone said, turning to me.

  ‘You do look like a circus freak,’ I told him, trying to lighten the mood.

  ‘Oh great! First I get dissed by two kids so young they ain’t even started wankin’ yet and now my own girl is callin’ me ugly.’

  ‘I was only kidding.’

  ‘Hurts, you know,’ he told me.

  ‘What – getting ripped by some kids?’

  ‘Nah, man – bruises an’ that. There I was, expectin’ some TLC, maybe even some likkle lovin’, and what do I get?’ he said, pretending to look sad.

  ‘Oh shut up, you big girl,’ I replied. ‘Like you said – it happens …’

  Tyrone looked away and then down at the ground and the feeling of guilt that had been stirring inside me came out into the open.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

  He grabbed me round my waist and pulled me closer before he replied. ‘What – for being so uncaring?’

  ‘No – because that Asian lad called you names … we ain’t all like that.’

  ‘Yeah – I know that,’ he said, smiling. ‘That bwoi was just a knob but you get them everywhere.’

  ‘I suppose you do,’ I said, before kissing him.

  We drew away from each other, then Tyrone gave me a sly grin and then pulled me even closer.

  ‘Like I said,’ he told me with a cheeky glint in his eyes, ‘you can find knobs everywhere …’

  ‘Ew! Get off me, you dirty scutter,’ I said, realizing what he was talking about.

  But I didn’t pull away from him. Instead I kissed him again.

  Later on, as we lay on his bed, he asked me whether my family was like the lad who’d called him names.

  ‘You mean racists?’ I asked.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, putting his hand under my top and stroking my side.

  ‘Not my actual family,’ I told him. ‘My mum and dad have got loads of black friends.’

  ‘So what other family is there?’ he asked.

  I pulled his hand away when it began to stray further north, not because I didn’t like it, but because his parents were downstairs.

  ‘My extended family,’ I explained. ‘It’s an Asian thing …’

  ‘Like samosas and saris an’ that?’ he asked, taking the piss.

  ‘You stupid arse,’ I said.

  ‘Talking of arses …’ he said, smiling.

  ‘Oi! I told you – not when your parents are downstairs …’ I protested, pushing his hand away again.

  ‘Oh – they ain’t gonna say nuttin’,’ he lied.

  ‘Yeah, right – apart from thinking I’m a slag, and that’d be just the impression I’d wanna give them,’ I replied sarcastically.

  ‘Never,’ he said. ‘You’re like an angel … they’d never think you was a slag.’

  ‘Ah – you’re so sweet sometimes,’ I said, not meaning it to sound like I was joking: it just came out that way.

  ‘I mean it,’ he insisted.

  I put my hand to his face and felt a surge of warmth in my belly and the small of my back. ‘I know – I wasn’t joking,’ I said, looking into his beautiful eyes.

  ‘So when do I get to come over to your house and meet your parents?’ he asked me.

  ‘Why – you gonna ask for my hand in marriage?’ This time I was joking.

  ‘You never know,’ he said with a smile. ‘I might even learn me some of them bhangra moves an’ that. Impress yer dad …’

  ‘You’d be better off learning all about reggae music, Liverpool FC and funk,’ I replied.

  ‘What – your dad into reggae?’ he asked, looking shocked.

  I nodded. ‘Just a bit. He’s into soul and that too – anything as long as it’s old …Anything except bhangra – he don’t even allow it in the house.’

  ‘Man sounds cool to me,’ he said.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with bhangra,’ I protested. ‘Some of it’s OK – and anyway, my dad’s got some reggae tunes that steal bhangra beats …’

  ‘Yeah – I heard my old man playing summat the other week that sounded Indian. He said it was some old riddim – the Coolie Skank or some shit,’ Tyrone replied, his hands beginning to wander again.

  ‘Oi!’

  ‘Just playin’,’ he said.

  ‘Well, I better go in a minute – I’ve got wo
rk to do,’ I told him.

  ‘Me too,’ he said. ‘My old man will kill me if I don’t get my grades.’

  ‘Maybe they should meet up – your dad and mine, I mean. Sounds like they’d take to each other,’ I suggested jokingly.

  ‘Yeah … but right now I think you should just hang on for another five minutes …’

  I tried to protest that I wanted to go, but it would have been a lie and I couldn’t be bothered to lie. I pulled him to me and kissed him over and over again.

  SIMRAN

  RUBY RANG ME on the morning of the bhangra gig to make sure that our plan was still on. I was doing my usual Saturday morning thing when she rang, sitting in my pyjamas, eating cereal from the box and watching morning telly. When I put the phone down I went back to the sofa, tucked my feet underneath me and continued watching the telly. Five minutes later the phone went again and this time it was Lisa.

  ‘Hey, babe – what you doin’?’ she asked me, far too breezily for the time of day.

  ‘Er … well, I’ve just bid my lover goodbye after a night of champagne and dancing and I’m sitting by the pool in my Caribbean hotel. What do you think I’m doing?’ I asked.

  ‘Ooh – check out sarcastic Simran …’

  ‘Well, I’m watching telly. What do you want?’

  ‘You asked me to call you,’ protested Lisa.

  ‘When?’ I asked, yawning down the phone.

  ‘Text message – last night?’

  I thought about it for a moment and then remembered sending it. ‘Oh yeah …’ I said.

  ‘Exactly – so don’t be giving me grief just because I’m doing something you asked me to do,’ she replied, sounding really pissed off.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I told her. ‘I’m not awake yet …’

  ‘Lucky you,’ she said and I realized then that she was upset about something.

  ‘You want me to come round?’ I asked her.

  ‘Do what you like,’ she said, putting the phone down on me.

  I got up and walked into the kitchen, where my mum was messing around with the toaster.

  ‘I’m goin’ round Lisa’s for a bit,’ I told her.

  ‘Already?’ she asked, turning the toaster upside down.