by Alex Wheatle
‘She’s got jump leads already,’ said Clayton.
Fuck Clayton, Brenton wanted to roar.
‘You’re not staying?’ asked Clayton. ‘Breanna will only be twenty-one once. There’s some cake as well. Have a drink with us. You can leave your car here and we’ll call you a cab when you’re ready to leave.’
‘Friends are coming around later,’ added Juliet. ‘And the cake is chocolate.’
‘Er, I’ll stay for some chocolate cake,’ said Brenton. ‘But I can’t stay for long.’
Taking an armchair Brenton was drawn by all Breanna’s birthday cards. He recalled her past birthdays and it was the same. Gifts and cards all over the place. I didn’t get shit for my birthdays when I was growing up, he reflected. Lesley would laugh if she heard me say that. You’re an emotional cripple, chained to the past. You can’t move on. She’s probably right but I didn’t make me, circumstances made me. Breanna’s so lucky though. And a little bit spoilt. If I was allowed to be her dad I wouldn’t buy her no raas car. Clayton’s mum probably spoilt him. I bet he wore Farah trousers to school. Fuck him.
‘So how’s business?’ Clayton asked.
‘So-so,’ Brenton answered, jolted out of his thoughts. ‘I’m surviving.’
‘The housing market is very strong,’ said Clayton. ‘And should stay that way for quite a while. I should imagine you’ll be very busy.’
‘I’m just going to sit in my car again,’ said Breanna, still excited. ‘Might go for a drive around the block. Come and have a look, uncle.’
‘I’ll be out in a minute,’ said Brenton. ‘Let me eat my cake first.’
‘Have you thought about designing your own website to promote your business?’ asked Clayton. He sipped his brandy again and regarded Brenton in a friendly, helpful way. Fuck him, thought Brenton. Hate it when he goes on all nice and t’ing. ‘Er, not really had time to think about it,’ he finally replied.
‘If you like I can give you a few contacts in that field,’ said Clayton. ‘I know a few people who design websites for businesses.’ I bet you fucking do, thought Brenton.
‘It’s a bit of an investment but you would reach far more potential customers if you advertised yourself on the internet and it would be a great idea to have a satisfied-client page with comments.
‘Yeah, I suppose so,’ said Brenton. Where’s Juliet with the fucking cake? his inner voice screamed.
‘Word of mouth is the thing in your business,’ said Clayton. He poured himself some more brandy. He swirled it before taking another sip. He loosened his tie a bit more. ‘Have you ever thought about buying your own property, doing a conversion into flats and then selling it on? It’s very lucrative.’
‘No I haven’t,’ replied Brenton. He wished he now had a drink. Juliet returned with a generous slice of cake on a plate. She gave it to Brenton and he ate it as if it might explode if he didn’t finish it in the next sixty seconds.
‘Do you want another slice?’ offered Juliet.
‘No thanks.’
‘Brenton and I were just discussing ways of improving his business,’ mentioned Clayton.
Putting the plate down on the coffee table, Brenton stood up. ‘I suppose I’d better have a look at Breanna’s new car. Back in a sec.’
‘I’ll get you another slice of cake while you’re out,’ said Juliet.
Relieved to get out of the house, Brenton found Breanna and her new car parked just a few yards up the road. She was texting someone on her mobile and didn’t even see Brenton climb into the passenger seat. ‘This is nice,’ said Brenton.
‘It is,’ nodded Breanna. ‘Can’t believe it. Mum’s always gone on about how lucky I am and I have to learn about working for anything I want and she goes out and buys me a car for my birthday.’
‘You’re only twenty-one once,’ said Brenton.
‘And they got it in my favourite colour.’
‘I didn’t know your favourite colour was sky-blue. That’s the same as your mum’s.’
‘Don’t you notice anything, uncle? My bedroom is decorated in baby-blue and when it’s summer I always dress in baby-blue tops and accessories.’
I would notice stuff like that if I was allowed to be your dad, thought Brenton.
‘You going out celebrating tonight?’ asked Brenton.
‘Yeah. Not taking the car though. We still haven’t decided where to go yet. Might go to this bar in Clapham Common.’
‘Who you going with?’
‘Oh, the usual crowd … and Malakai.’
‘So you two serious?’
‘It’s getting that way,’ Breanna blushed.
‘Remember what I said. If a guy’s really serious he’ll stay around even if he’s not getting any sex in the first few weeks or months in a relationship. You understand?’
‘Yes, uncle. You’re not gonna lecture me about this on my birthday, are you?’
‘No, just be careful. Don’t give it up too easily for him. You’re twenty-one now so it’s not all about the sex. At Malakai’s age they basically just want sex but if they’re made to wait for it they’ll learn to respect you. That’s what you should be thinking now. Serious. And if he gets peckish and goes somewhere else to satisfy his cravings then dash him to the rough part of the kerb. Understand?’
‘Yes, uncle. Don’t worry, I don’t let man take advantage of me. I know what I’m doing. I’m twenty-one now!’
‘You have a good time, yeah.’
‘I will. Thanks again.’
‘No problem. I’m going back in now. I’ll see you soon. You coming in?’
‘Not yet. I’m gonna drive around the block.’
Smiling, Brenton climbed out of the car as Breanna turned the ignition. He watched her very carefully check her wing and rear mirrors before pulling away. He returned to the house and as he re-entered the lounge he noticed that Juliet had already wrapped another slice of cake in kitchen foil.
‘For tomorrow,’ she said smiling.
Not bothering to sit down, Brenton said, ‘Thanks. I’ll have it when I get back from work.’
‘Going already?’ asked Clayton.
‘Yeah. Gotta do some paperwork and prepare stuff for tomorrow.’
‘We appreciate you coming around,’ said Clayton standing up. He walked three paces towards Brenton and shook his hand warmly. Brenton made sure his grip was tighter than Clayton’s. Fuck him! he yelled in his mind once more.
‘I’ll see you to the door,’ offered Juliet.
She followed Brenton into the hallway. Before opening the front door, Brenton turned around. He gazed at Juliet. For just a moment his expression softened and became vulnerable. Longing was evident in his eyes.
‘You OK?’ asked Juliet.
‘Yeah. I’m fine.’
‘You look a bit … kind of pale.’
‘How can I look pale, Juliet? I’m brown.’
‘Sometimes people have a delayed kind of reaction to bereavement. We all react differently. I cried my tears at the hospital.’
‘Yeah, it’s hitting me now,’ Brenton said.
‘I’ll let you know when we can go and see the solicitor. He said about two weeks.’
‘OK, I’ll be there.’
‘Look after yourself, Brenton.’
‘I will.’
‘Oh, one sec.’
‘What is it, Juliet?’
‘I’m having a dinner party for a couple of Mum’s old friends soon. It’ll be nice if you were there.’
‘I dunno,’ Brenton answered. ‘I’m very busy. Starting a job in Barnes soon.’
‘I haven’t set a date yet. It’ll be on a Sunday.’
‘I’ll see how it goes,’ said Brenton. ‘But I’m not promising anything.’
‘As I said it’ll be nice if you can make it.’
I hate Juliet’s dinner parties, Brenton thought. But she’s really being nice. And she didn’t make an issue of me arguing with her about Breanna at the wake. She never holds grudges. Not like me. And the
chocolate cake was fucking delicious.
‘I’ll try my best,’ he said. ‘Bye, Juliet.’
‘Bye, Brenton. Wrap up warm when you’re working. Looks like you’re coming down with something.’
‘I’m fine. See ya.’
Juliet didn’t go back inside until Brenton pulled away in his car. She raised one arm to bid farewell and Brenton replied with a toot of his horn. What’s a matter with me? he rebuked himself. Why didn’t I just say no? I hate Juliet’s dinner parties. Why can I still not say no to her?
Chapter 9
The Question
LOOKING AT HERSELF in the bathroom mirror, Juliet noticed a grey hair on her fringe. She plucked it out, looked at it and threw it in the sink. She ran the cold tap and watched the rogue strand disappear. She then splashed water over her face and studied herself in the mirror once again. Those lines around my eyes are getting deeper, she concluded. So much for black don’t crack. Getting greyer. My looks are fading. Got to deal with it. Better wash and dye my hair again this weekend, she decided.
She checked the temperature gauge and clock that hung from the bathroom wall. One forty-five in the morning. Nineteen degrees centigrade. Breanna hadn’t arrived home yet. Hope she’s behaving herself, Juliet said to herself. Lord! Why can’t I sleep? I’m so tired. I thought making love to Clayton would’ve helped. Can I call it making love? We just have sex these days if I’m honest. Tessa would laugh at that. I’m sure she’s never fucked three times a night and screamed down her bedroom no matter what she used to say. I wonder how many other couples just drift along having obligation sex. There must be millions of couples out there who have been together for years and years but they don’t screw in the lounge, in the kitchen or on the stairs like they used to. Or they can’t be bothered with the oral thing or screwing more than once a night. And then people say it’s so nice that you’re still together with your husband or wife. Brenton would call it a load of fuckery. Do we do it just because our wife or husband is lying there? How are you supposed to maintain passion when you’ve been with someone for so long? Lord! I know precisely where Clayton is going to put his hand, kiss me and what position we will make love. He touches me like I might break. Why can’t he be more … more mannish. And he does it all without saying a word to me. But he spends so much time just staring at me. He makes me feel like I’m some kind of expensive painting. At least he still wants me in his own way I suppose. Not like some of those women at the Town Hall. Christ! How can they be so open about their men staying up as late as possible drinking until they crash out? Don’t they realise that people know that’s all about avoiding sex with their partner? At least Clayton’s not like that. Why can’t I want him as much as he wants me? Christ! I don’t even kiss him on his cheek before he leaves for work like I used to do. I wonder if he’s noticed? The older I get the more I understand why people have affairs. To catch that old excitement again. Brenton. Mustn’t tell Tessa that. She’ll go on at me forever.
Juliet washed her hands and dried them on a towel. Jesus! she thought. Do I really want to be an MP? Can’t imagine what the Daily Mail or Evening Standard would do to me if they ever found out who Breanna’s father really is. Lord! They’d be so deliriously happy they got that scoop they’d probably invite me to their Christmas party and airbrush a pic of me for their front pages.
She made her way back to the bedroom. Clayton was sleeping. No snoring, Juliet noted. He always sleeps better after sex. She sat down at the foot of the bed. Brenton, she repeated in her mind. He looks like he’s coming down with something. I keep telling him to wrap up when he’s at work in the winter months. He was feeling it today. I should’ve told him about Breanna’s car. Lord! Those eyes. If someone ever does a scan of my brain they will see Brenton’s eyes. He still wants me. After all this time. I just know it. I feel it. Wonder why Lesley wasn’t with him today? Maybe she couldn’t get someone to mind her kids. I wonder if Brenton wants to get deeply involved with someone who’s already got kids. And she seemed a bit needy when I met her. Maybe I should say something to him. Tell him to be careful. She looks good for her age though but Brenton could get someone younger if he wanted to. No, better not say anything. Wanted to hug him today. Who are you kidding, Jules? I want to hug him every time I see him. But can’t. Hope he’s alright. Even if by a miracle we did live together, after twenty years we might end up like me and Clayton. Having obligation, grey-hair sex where no one bumps no heads, the sheets stay on the mattress, no one falls out of bed and we never fuck in the lounge or in the kitchen. Christ, Jules. You’re a miserable negative cow sometimes. Stop doing this to yourself.
Standing up, she picked up her dressing gown that was on a chair near her side of the bed, put it on and made her way downstairs. Once in the kitchen she poured some water in the kettle, took out a bag of her favourite strawberry and mango herbal tea and sat down at the kitchen table. Brenton. Why can’t I get you out of my mind? Kylie Minogue’s I Just Can’t Get You Outta My Head popped into the part of her brain that memorised music.
A minute later, the kettle boiled and Juliet poured the water into a Paris souvenir mug. She let it brew for another two minutes. Brenton. What are we going to do? She heard a key rattling in the front door lock. Funny how that kind of noise sounds louder at night, she thought. She sensed Breanna walking through the hallway and wondered if she’d notice the light on in the kitchen. She did.
Crashing onto a chair opposite her, Juliet could smell the drink on her daughter’s breath. ‘You enjoyed yourself,’ stated Juliet. ‘How did you get home?’
‘Taxi,’ Breanna answered. ‘It’s taking Malakai home now.’
‘So where did you go?’ asked Juliet, sipping her herbal tea.
‘Some new bar in Clapham Common. Can’t remember its name. Drinks were a bit pricey but the music was slammin’. We had a good time.’
‘Before you go to bed don’t forget to take your make-up off. It won’t do your skin any favours if you sleep with it on.’
‘So you keep saying, Mum. Stop fussing. It’s not like I’m shooting an ad for Clearasil in the morning. They’d never ask me anyway – not good looking enough. What you doing up anyway? Checking what time I get in?’
‘No, no. As if? No, just couldn’t sleep. And stop this rubbish about not being good looking enough.’
‘It’s true. Most of my friends are better looking than me … Why can’t you sleep?’
‘Oh, this and that. Still thinking if I want to put up with the hassle of being an MP.’
‘Mum, can you make me a coffee?’
‘Last time I looked you had a pair of hands and a pair of feet.’
‘Yeah, but I’m not sure if my brain’s still there.’
‘Hmm,’ Juliet replied. ‘Maybe it drowned in vodka?’
‘Funny.’
Grabbing another mug, Juliet added a generous spoon of coffee and three teaspoonfuls of brown sugar. Breanna, blinking away her tiredness, watched her every move. She didn’t speak again until the coffee was placed in front of her. ‘Mum,’ she said.
‘What is it?’
‘I wanna ask you something. Don’t flip.’
Picking up her mug of tea, Juliet took a sip. ‘What is it? Don’t be flipped by what? You better not be pregnant.’
‘I am not pregnant, Mum. What do you take me for?’
‘Then what is it?’
Breanna paused. She avoided her mother’s gaze.
‘Who’s my dad?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Who’s my dad? I’m twenty-one now. You don’t have to hide anything from me.’
‘I’m not hiding anything from you.’
‘Oh come on, Mum. You went to a party, you got high on something and then you had sex with some guy that you don’t remember?’
‘Yeah, that was it. These things happen. I wasn’t always an angel.’
Juliet half-smiled but Breanna wasn’t buying it.
‘Things don’t just happen to you,’ Breanna said. �
�Gran always said you were sensible. She said she never saw you drunk or even smoke a cigarette.’
Placing her mug on the table, Juliet took in a deep breath. Under the table she clasped her hands together to stop them shaking. She composed herself and returned Breanna’s accusing glare. ‘My mother didn’t know everything about me. I wasn’t exactly the Virgin Mary.’
‘Come on, Mum,’ Breanna pressed, forgetting about her coffee. ‘Your story is just … unlikely. Why can’t you trust me enough to tell me what really happened? Was it bad?’
‘Are you calling me a liar?’ Juliet raised her voice. ‘What’s done is done. It’s in the past! Why are you bringing this up?’
‘Because you’re not being honest!’ Breanna shouted. ‘And you want to be an MP? You can’t even be straight with me let alone any voter out there.’
I wish she would stop looking at me like that, Juliet thought. Why is she bringing this up? What brought this on? Don’t shout, Jules. Stay calm. Don’t be so defensive.
Juliet picked up her tea again and took another sip. Her eyes never left her daughter. ‘I wasn’t the perfect girl that my mother thought I was,’ she said calmly. ‘I was curious about drugs, drink and sex just like anyone else. I was sneaking out going to blues dances and pyjama parties when I was fifteen. At the same age I had two guys on the go. Boys … always liked me and they invited me to parties and … places.’
‘That doesn’t mean that you have no idea who you’re having sex with.’
‘Breanna!’
‘It’s true. You went to a party, right? People usually go to a party with friends. So whoever this guy was, someone else must’ve known who he was.’
‘Maybe they did. But I didn’t.’
‘So once you became pregnant didn’t you try and find out? It wouldn’t be rocket science trying to find out who followed you up into a bedroom and had sex with you. At least you must know what he looks like?’
‘I didn’t know what I was doing.’
Not liking the taste of her herbal tea anymore, Juliet stood up and poured it down the sink. She closed her eyes and drew in a long breath. She then stared out into the darkness of the back garden. ‘As I’ve told you before I can’t remember anything. I was fully charged, as we used to say in those days.’
