Brenton Brown

by Alex Wheatle

  ‘How?’ Brenton stuttered finally. ‘How did you get in?’

  ‘You have a bad memory,’ Juliet smiled. She was picking up the dirty clothes from the bedroom floor. ‘You gave me a key. Remember? You gave me a spare one for safekeeping when you first moved in. I tried to call you yesterday. No answer. So I thought I’d better come around. I saw the light on but you weren’t answering the front door.’

  ‘And you found me as sick as anything.’

  ‘You had a fever.’

  She’s got her efficient, nursey face on again, Brenton noted.

  ‘You’ll be alright,’ she said. ‘A bit of rest. Now you’re awake I have to take your temperature just in case you have a real fever instead of man fever.’

  ‘What day is it?’ Brenton wanted to know.

  ‘Tuesday,’ Juliet answered. ‘It’s just gone half past eight and I haven’t been home yet from the Town Hall. I put some dirty clothes in the washing machine. You need a new drum for it. It’s making a hell of a noise.’

  Hope she didn’t see the shit in the kitchen, Brenton fretted.

  ‘And how can you leave your kitchen in such a state?’ Juliet nagged. ‘Dirty plates, bits of food in the sink, floor needs mopping. Didn’t Mum teach you anything when she came around here or are you just friggin’ lazy?’

  Mum didn’t teach me a lot, Brenton thought. She wouldn’t nag at all. She would just start clearing up the place without me saying anything. She was good that way. Spoilt me big time. Then she’d make us cups of tea and nice it up with a drop of rum. I miss those teas. Miss her coming around. Never used to be sure if I was over the limit when I drove her home. Fuck my days! I wonder if Clayton gets nagged like this? Probably not. Wanker. I bet if he has a pizza at two in the morning he probably gets his gloves on to Mr Sheen the fucking oven after he’s eaten. Fuck him.

  Brenton watched Juliet rummage around in her handbag. He didn’t recognise the brand but he bet it was expensive. ‘Where is it?’ Juliet asked herself.

  She took out her brush, her two mobile phones and a purse that was almost the same size as the handbag. Brenton noticed all the credit cards in her purse. I wonder how much money Clayton’s on, he thought.

  ‘Here it is,’ she smiled.

  She had a slim case in her hand. She took out a thermometer from it, checked her watch and placed it inside Brenton’s mouth. Brenton recognised it. It was Mum’s.

  ‘It’s sterile,’ Juliet added.

  Brenton studied her. Can’t stop wanting her, he admitted to himself. She hasn’t changed a damn t’ing since I first saw her. Hold on. Maybe a little. Her breasts are bigger. Why does she have to be my half-sister? Why is she here? She’s looking after me, just like Mum did once when I was sick. It’s weird. She’s got the same style and the same expression. Can’t stop wanting her. What the fuck is wrong with me?

  She pulled the thermometer out of his mouth, and Brenton watched her as she read his temperature. He imagined her in various states of undress, in her trousers and blouse, in her underwear, naked. He lifted his head and lunged for Juliet kissing her on the mouth. For half a second she did not pull away. Brenton could taste some kind of lip seal and her breath was fresh. He guessed she had just chewed on some peppermint gum or something. He could smell her deodorant and the wax she greased her hair with. He closed his eyes and placed his right hand on Juliet’s left shoulder. His nose rubbed against her cheek and he could detect some kind of foundation on its surface. It smelt good.

  ‘Don’t do that, Brenton,’ Juliet rebuked. She pulled herself away before disappearing into the kitchen.

  Why did I do that? Brenton questioned himself. I’m too fucking lusty. She’s gonna step now and I could do with some company. Shit! What’s a matter with me? Why can’t I control myself? Then again. It’s just a kiss. It’s not like I used my tongue or anything. Brothers kiss their sisters, don’t they? Yeah, they do. To show their appreciation. I was just showing my appreciation ’cos she’s looking after me. But brothers don’t kiss like you, you fucking weirdo.

  Juliet returned. Brenton sat up in the bed and checked her expression. He expected a cussing. He avoided her gaze, but she seemed normal.

  He watched her sit on the bed. She picked up the thermometer that was now on a pillow. ‘I’m just going to rinse this.’

  Brenton nodded as she disappeared into the kitchen. She returned two minutes later. She had her serious face on, Brenton noted.

  ‘Oh, by the way,’ Juliet said. ‘There were messages on your phone.’

  Oh no, Brenton fretted. Must be Lesley cussing off my behind again. ‘Yeah?’ he answered. ‘Who?’

  ‘Daniel,’ Juliet answered. ‘I rang him back. I told him you are sick. He wanted to know if you want him to get to a job in Barnes and start preparation.’

  ‘Oh yeah. Jeez and crime. I forgot about that. I was supposed to start that job Monday.’

  Why isn’t she cussing me? Brenton thought. Why isn’t she vex? Why is she carrying on as if nothing happened? I’d rather she cuss me out so I know what she’s thinking.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ smiled Juliet. ‘I told Daniel to get himself up there. You just get better.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘By the way, your temperature is ninety-nine, a tiny bit over normal. So we can tell the priest to remove himself from the door. I don’t know. Men. They have a little cough and blow their noses and then they collapse into their beds for the rest of the month.’

  ‘Think I was worse than that,’ replied Brenton, injured. ‘My temperature was probably higher yesterday when you weren’t here.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  Sitting down on the bed, Juliet made sure she was out of range for any lunging kiss. ‘I’m … I’m surprised,’ she stuttered. ‘That Lesley’s not here or hasn’t been around?’

  Brenton began, but paused as he tried to find the words. ‘We broke up,’ he said eventually.

  Standing again, Juliet folded her arms and turned her back on Brenton. She gazed aimlessly out the bedroom window. Brenton wondered what she was thinking. He admired her shape. She spoke again a few minutes later. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I … I didn’t want her,’ Brenton admitted.

  ‘I really thought she was the one,’ said Juliet, still peering out the window. ‘She looked after you, she’s intelligent, she looked good for her age, and you had plenty in common with her.’

  ‘I didn’t want her.’

  Juliet didn’t respond.

  ‘I … I still want you,’ Brenton confessed.

  Juliet turned around. Her arms were still folded. Brenton couldn’t detect any emotion in her expression. She fixed her gaze on him. He was unnerved. Maybe she’ll cuss me now, he guessed.

  ‘You can’t think of me like that,’ she said. ‘You mustn’t. It has to stop, Brenton.’

  Every word she uttered felt like a breezeblock weighing down on his chest.

  ‘How do you think it makes me feel that every time you break up with a woman you call my name? I still think you should get counselling.’

  ‘I don’t need counselling.’

  ‘You do, Brenton. Not just about me but all you went through in that home. A counsellor will help you …’

  ‘I don’t need fucking counselling! I ain’t mental. Is that what you’re trying to say? You trying to say that ’cos I want you I’m a nutcase?’

  ‘No, I’m not saying that.’

  ‘Yes, you are.’

  ‘You think I’m gonna spill my guts about me and you to some fucking stranger? Fuck that!’

  ‘It will help, Brenton.’ Juliet sat on the bed and placed her hands on Brenton’s shoulders. ‘Look at you! You’re still hurting.’

  ‘I’m not fucking hurting,’ argued Brenton, shrugging off Juliet’s hands. ‘I just, I just want …’

  ‘What you can’t have,’ Juliet cut in. ‘You’re quite a catch. You’ve got your own business, you’ve kept your looks, you’ve dated plenty women. Don’t you think there’s a problem
that you haven’t got close to any of them?’

  ‘They weren’t right for me. None of them could give me the same … the same vibe like I had with …’

  ‘So all of them weren’t right for you? Did you give them any chance to become right for you?’

  ‘Oh for fuck’s sake, Juliet! Stop analysing everyt’ing. Are you a fucking agony aunt now?’

  ‘I’m trying to help you see where you’re going wrong. None of them have the same vibe like you had with me? Do you hear yourself? Brenton, what we had is history. Finished. You need … counselling so that you can stop comparing all women to me. You have to stop that. Also you need to deal with your childhood issues. Over the years I’ve done the best I can but you were traumatised as a child, treated appallingly …’

  ‘I don’t fucking need to deal with my childhood issues, right. I ain’t mental. I’ve done alright. Got myself a trade and a little business. Bought this place but you just love to put me down. I need to get counselling to help with my childhood issues! I’m a fucking man for God’s sake. Not some fucking pussy who can’t deal with life. I’m alright. Nothing the fuck is wrong with me. My life is good. The only thing missing is you.’

  ‘I’m married, Brenton,’ said Juliet, now becoming visibly upset. ‘There can never be a me and you. Not in that sense. I’m with Clayton.’

  ‘FUCK CLAYTON! Don’t mention his raas name!’

  ‘He’s my husband! DEAL WITH IT!’

  ‘NOOO! He ain’t my fucking husband and he ain’t my brother.’

  ‘If you want me in your life you have to accept him.’

  ‘I ain’t accepting shit.’

  ‘Oh, that’s very grown up of you! You going to have your sulk now, Brenton? ’Cos you can’t get what you want.’

  ‘Don’t fucking talk down to me!’

  ‘I should have made you come with me to discuss the GSA issue with the counsellor a few years back,’ Juliet said. ‘You should’ve come.’

  ‘GSA! CSA! Fuck SA! I don’t even remember what it means!’

  ‘You know what it means, Brenton. Genetic Sexual Attraction. It would have helped you to under–’

  ‘No it wouldn’t! It’s all bollocks! All fuckery!’

  ‘I’m really getting sick and tired of you shouting and swearing at me. You’re not a teenager. You’re a grown man, for God’s sake!’

  Brenton was about to say something but the words wouldn’t come out. He breathed heavily for a few minutes.

  ‘I know you still have feelings for me,’ Brenton finally countered. ‘More feelings for me than you have for that lame pussy Clayton.’

  ‘He’s my husband and you have no right to talk about him in that way,’ stressed Juliet. ‘It was my choice and how we conduct our marriage has nothing to do with you.’

  ‘But you still have feelings for me. Look me in the eye and swear that you don’t.’

  Brenton noticed that Juliet’s bottom lip was trembling. He remembered it always did that when she was really vexed. Her eyes were boring into him and he wondered if he had gone too far. You and your fucking temper, Brenton Brown, he rebuked himself. Why you have to keep swearing so much? You fucking idiot. You can take the man out of the ghetto but you can’t take the ghetto out …

  ‘Of course I have feelings for you,’ said Juliet after a pause, interrupting Brenton’s thoughts. ‘You’re my brother.’

  She stood up, fixed Brenton with an angry glare and then went to the kitchen. Brenton heard a cupboard door opening and a tap being run. He shook his head. Juliet returned with a glass of water. She glared at Brenton once more, drank half of the glass and put it down on a bedside cabinet. ‘Look after yourself, Brenton,’ she said calmly. ‘It’s important you keep the kitchen clean when you’re sick. I’ll call you tomorrow to see how you are.’

  Brenton sat up in bed watching Juliet leave the room. As she went through the door she didn’t look back. He lay back down. ‘Shit!’

  As soon as she closed Brenton’s front door, Juliet paused and took a deep breath. She closed her eyes, trying to compose herself. She then checked her make-up and hair with a small mirror from her handbag and walked down the two flights of stairs out of Brenton’s block. She climbed into her car and turned the ignition key. She paused again. She checked herself in the rear-view mirror. She closed her eyes. ‘Brenton,’ she uttered. She threw her handbag onto the passenger seat, and kicked the car above the pedals. ‘Arrrggghhhhh!’

  After ten minutes of aching pain in her right big toe, Juliet just about composed herself. She gripped the steering wheel tight, indicated and pulled away.

  Chapter 12

  First Time

  MYA’S AFTER THE RAIN trilled from Breanna’s new car stereo. Sitting in the passenger seat, Malakai was nodding. Checking herself in the rear-view mirror, Breanna pulled up and parked outside her house. With her hands still tense on the steering wheel she looked at her boyfriend. ‘I hate this deceit, Malakai, lying to my boss and my mum.’

  ‘How else are we gonna get our time?’ asked Malakai. ‘And you told me since you started at your place you’ve never taken a sickie. Everyone gets sick sometime.’

  ‘Yeah but they don’t lie about it.’

  ‘Bree, if you’re having second thoughts about this then you can drop me back to my yard and you can still go to work half-day … I can wait.’

  Breanna thought about it. She stared through the windscreen with her hands still holding onto the steering wheel. It was an overcast day with the promise of rain in the skies. A white-haired woman wearing sunglasses was crossing the road with a white Labrador. Breanna glanced at Malakai whom she thought seemed too relaxed. She then pressed a button on the car stereo and the music stopped. She looked at him once more before opening the car door. ‘Come on.’

  She climbed out of the car and made her way to her front door. Spots of rain dampened her hair. Malakai watched her before he got out of the car. Breanna was turning the key into the lock when he reached her. ‘You sure your mum and paps are at work?’

  ‘Yeah, I watched them leave this morning. Stop fretting, man. My paps ain’t laying in wait with an axe.’

  Malakai scanned the hallway before crossing the threshold. Breanna led him to the kitchen. She opened a drinks cabinet and took out a bottle of Baileys. ‘What do you want?’ she asked.

  ‘Er, don’t mind. Whisky, rum or vodka and Coke. Thanks.’

  Grabbing a bottle of Appleton Special rum, she poured it into a whisky glass and filled it with four cubes of ice before topping it up with Coca-Cola. ‘This is pap’s,’ grinned Breanna. ‘He never notices. But if I trouble even a capful of my mum’s wine she’ll kill me.’

  ‘I didn’t want the ice,’ laughed Malakai.

  ‘Well take it out and fling it in the sink if you don’t want it,’ snapped Breanna.

  ‘Just joking! Why you getting so touchy?’

  ‘I’m not getting touchy. Sorry I didn’t ask you if you wanted ice. It’s not a biggie for fuck’s sake.’

  ‘Alright, Bree. Seems like you need a next ice cube in your drink!’

  Breanna kissed her teeth before leading Malakai into the lounge. They both sat on the black leather sofa. Breanna watched Malakai admiring the framed family photographs hanging from the walls. Suspended from a wall above the sofa was a framed picture of Martin Luther King. There was a mini-stereo on a shelf. Within a glass wall cabinet were crystal champagne glasses, two crystal decanters and flower-patterned china plates. Resting on a solid redwood coffee table were framed photographs of Breanna at various ages. Malakai settled his gaze on a photo of Breanna, aged eleven, in her school uniform complete with hat. She was sticking her tongue out at whoever took the picture.

  ‘Hated school,’ she said.

  ‘You wore a hat?’

  ‘Let’s not go into it.’

  ‘What school was that then?’ Malakai pressed.

  ‘One that had a strict uniform policy. Didn’t really mind but they wouldn’t even let us wear earrings �
� what school did you go to?’

  ‘Charles Edward Brooke. In between Camberwell and Bricky. Started there with Sean. He was always getting into … teachers there were well happy if you just got entered for any GCSEs.’

  ‘How’s it going with the plumbing training?’

  ‘Alright, you know,’ Malakai sipped his rum. He gently shook the glass before he took another sip. ‘Can be a nasty job though. We were learning yesterday how to unblock toilets. I think I could unblock my own shit, maybe even my mum’s shit but other people’s? Not sure if I can do that, Bree, blatantly. My older brother has done some fucked-up nasty shits in his day when he was living at home and I wouldn’t unblock any of them monsters, blatantly!’

  ‘You’ll have to do it when you’re a pro,’ giggled Breanna. ‘Stick with it, man. A plumber my paps knows charges fifty sheets just to look at a job before he does anything.’

  ‘I know. Trust me, I ain’t gonna mess this up.’

  ‘So you met Sean at school. You was gonna say he’s always inna trouble?’