Brenton Brown

by Alex Wheatle

  ‘Needed that workout,’ Juliet said.

  ‘I didn’t,’ replied Tessa. ‘Why couldn’t we do what most forty-odd women do? Go shopping, have lunch somewhere and then enjoy a massage from a fit bloke?’

  ‘Badminton is good for your heart rate.’

  ‘Good to kill me!’

  ‘Stop moaning, Tess. Didn’t you say to me that you need someone to drag you out of the house to do more exercise?’

  ‘Yeah, I said it. Doesn’t mean I meant it though. Now take a stroll and leave me to die in peace. I’m seeing that white light thing.’

  Juliet laughed. ‘Oh come on, Tess. Couldn’t have been that bad.’

  ‘Do you wanna bet? If Antonio Banderas walked up to me right now, swinging his bits, undressing me with his sword and offering the hottest sex ever, I still couldn’t stand up.’

  ‘When you have your shower, Tess, make sure it’s a cold one,’ laughed Juliet. ‘We’ll go for a meal when we get out of here. Lounge Bar? At the top of Atlantic Road?’

  ‘It’s not a long walk from here, is it? OK, as long as you’re willing to carry me there … Jules, you haven’t said anything to me yet about what’s nagging you. Don’t even think about not telling me! If I’ve coughed up my guts for nothing I’m gonna kill you.’

  ‘What makes you so sure that something is nagging me?’ said Juliet sipping her drink.

  The sweat was still pouring from Juliet’s forehead. She wiped it with her towel.

  ‘Cos I’ve never seen you hit that shuttlecock so bloody hard,’ answered Tessa. ‘I kept on wishing it was Graham’s dick! It’s obvious you’ve got issues. Then again, you’ve always got issues. If you was American you’d have a psycho-what-you-call-it.’

  ‘Psychologist,’ Juliet corrected.

  ‘Miss Drama I should call you.’

  ‘Miss Drama? I’m not the one who burned my ex-husband’s Crystal Palace football shirts on the barbecue in front of the kids.’

  ‘You was egging me on.’

  ‘No I wasn’t,’ Juliet chuckled. ‘I just, I just couldn’t stop laughing.’

  ‘That’s nice, Jules. My marriage was going down the plug hole and all you could do was laugh.’

  ‘If you could have seen yourself,’ said Juliet. ‘The lighter in your hand, your crazy face and the kids looking all confused … it was funny.’

  From trying to keep a serious face Tessa suddenly burst out laughing. ‘Yeah, I s’pose it was funny. I shoulda burned all his bloody clothes, especially that Bugs Bunny T-shirt that he really loves and his precious Adidas trainers; that was the only thing he ever washed in the washing machine. He didn’t worry about the kids’ clothes or anything; he would just throw his bloody trainers in the thing and switch the machine on! Shoulda burned his Coldplay and Morrisey CDs an’ all, and his World Cup 1990 DVD. Shoulda smashed his Crystal Palace mug an’ all. Fucking cheating slag!’

  Juliet took another sip of her drink. ‘I don’t get it,’ she said. ‘He was one of the good ones, wasn’t he? He didn’t seem to be the cheating kind. Not as far as I know anyway. Still can’t get my head round it, Tess.’

  ‘He’s a man,’ Tessa stressed. ‘Men cheat. They can’t help it.’

  ‘Not all men cheat, Tess.’

  ‘Don’t they?’ Tessa chuckled. ‘Trust me, if they’re given the chance they’ll cheat. It’s in their DNA. You could get the most devoted husband in the world, married to his lovely wife for twenty-five years. Two point five kids and all that. Living in a nice house with their Boxing Day-sales furniture and widescreen TV. But if Beyonce whispered in his ear, I’ll give you the most mind-blowing night of sex and dirtyness you will never believe and never forget and no one will ever get to know, he’ll take it. And even if he didn’t take it he’ll agonise over it and then regret not taking it till he’s six foot under. Believe me, Jules. Men would fuck as much as they could if they knew they would get away with it.’

  ‘But Graham?’ Juliet queried, shaking her head. ‘He seemed so … shy?’

  ‘You think shy men don’t wanna fuck around, Jules? What planet are you ringing me from? You think that slag that’s with him now woulda been interested in him if he didn’t get a promotion? You think that whore woulda fucked up my marriage if Graham was just another one of the lads and wasn’t allowed to park in one of the bosses’ parking bays? When Graham became general manager that slag started to give him attention. She wasn’t fucking interested before, the fucking slut. She saw pound signs and her future slag babies going to some posh fucking nursery. So she made her play for Graham by standing up and pushing her tits in his face every time he went by. And men being men, Graham let his dick do the talking. The both of them are slags. Fuck ’em both.’

  ‘The kids coping OK?’

  ‘Yeah, they are,’ Tessa answered. ‘And it’s bloody annoying. A small part of my head doesn’t want them to cope. That same small … well I said small but if I was honest it’s a big part, wants my kids to hate him. I want them to not stand the very sight of him. Am I making sense, Jules?’

  ‘Yes. You’re still raging, Tess. Understandable. Don’t know what I’d do if Clayton fucked around.’

  ‘Clayton fucking around?’ laughed Tessa. ‘No danger of that. More chance of Skinny Spice eating a fat hog.’

  ‘Men are men as you say,’ argued Juliet. ‘Doesn’t Clayton think with his dick too?’

  ‘Yes he does,’ giggled Tessa. ‘But he’s gay.’

  ‘Clayton is not fucking gay!’

  ‘Yes he is. He’s as gay as a cream suit, a yellow handkerchief and light blue flip-flops. He uses the fact that he’s married to a beautiful woman as a cover-up.’

  ‘Oh give it a break, Tess!’

  ‘It’s true!’ argued Tessa. ‘Think about it. A man like Clayton. He’s not what I call absolutely fuckable with his weird, pear-shaped head and his please-respect-me suits but he’s very successful, right? Earns loads of money. Looks don’t come into it for a lot of slags. Trust me, Jules, slags must fling themselves at him twenty-four seven. Slags want the easy life, Jules. They wanna live in a nice house and not go to work. They wanna drive their 4×4s and listen to the latest pop crap. They wanna go shopping in the West End but go to the posh part of it. They wanna walk up and down the high street with their Chanel and Harrods bags pouting like Skinny Spice. And they don’t care who they have to fuck to get that. Married or not. And because, as I said, men think with their dicks, most slags, if they got a bit up front and a face that they can make look decent with a bit of plaster, live the life they don’t fucking deserve.’

  ‘So have they set up home?’

  ‘Yep. Let them stew together. As soon as her tits begin to drop when she pushes out her first sprog and when she can’t get away looking decent with her cheap make-up, Graham will lose interest. They haven’t got nothing in common. I heard her on her mobile once. All she ever talks about is Footballers Wives and Hollyoaks. Graham likes watching Newsnight in the evening and Question Time. The very thought of watching those programmes in bed with him will do her slag brain in. Mark my words, Jules, when Graham gets bored with her she’ll be shopping for her slag knickers in Primark again.’

  Juliet bent over with laughter. ‘She that shallow?’

  ‘A hoodie’s spit on a kerb has got more depth than that slag.’

  Juliet laughed again and had to place her right hand on her stomach to compose herself.

  ‘How did we get around talking about Graham and his slag?’ Tessa asked. ‘I want to know what is nagging you.’

  Taking in a deep breath and staring at her racquet, Juliet thought of Brenton. She then took another sip of water. ‘Brenton,’ she answered.

  ‘Brenton?’ Tessa repeated. ‘Oh for crying out loud! Not that again.’

  Juliet nodded.

  ‘What now?’ Tessa asked. ‘He was running and tripped over and now you wanna put a little plaster on his leg and kiss it better?’

  ‘Tess!’

  ‘Then what is it?’<
br />
  Juliet took in another breath. ‘He’s leaving.’

  ‘Leaving? So?’

  ‘He’s going to start a new life abroad,’ Juliet announced.

  ‘That’s a good thing, ain’t it?’

  Juliet didn’t reply. Instead she stared at her racquet again.

  ‘It’s about time Brenton had a life without you in it,’ Tessa added. ‘He needs to be away from you. Maybe find a girl and make sprogs of his own. Let’s hope none of his own sprogs get biblical with each other!’

  ‘I don’t know if he can form a stable relationship,’ said Juliet.

  ‘Why not? He functions, doesn’t he? Everything’s in … working order?’

  ‘Yes, but …’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘I’ve ruined him, Tess.’

  ‘What do you mean you’ve ruined him?’

  ‘He’s still carrying something for me. He still can’t get over …’

  ‘Twaddle!’ laughed Tessa. ‘He’s a grown man, for God’s sake. He runs his own business. All that fiddling abuse stuff happened years ago …’

  ‘Tess! How many times do I have to tell you? He wasn’t fiddled with. He was physically abused.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. If you prefer it that way. Anyway, he should’ve got over that by now. And besides, he’s not your responsibility. No one gave you a job to make your half-brother happy in his private life.’

  ‘But I can’t help feeling … it’s all my fault. Like I really fucked up his life because, er, what we had.’

  ‘That’s long gone, Jules,’ said Tessa shaking her head. ‘He’s gotta find his own way now. What’s with you and this guilt thing? I’d understand if you were Catholic but you ain’t. Listen to me, Jules. It’s best that you just let him go. Who knows? In a couple of years’ time you might get a letter from him from Jamaica or wherever telling you he’s married and got a sprog on the way.’

  ‘Brenton married,’ Juliet said, now staring at her racquet again.

  ‘Yes, married,’ repeated Tessa. ‘You know? That age-old excuse to buy a white dress and eat a cake with too much icing? And then your husband can’t keep his dick in his trousers when a slag winks at him at the reception.’

  Juliet thought of Brenton walking down the aisle with someone. He would look so good in a suit, she imagined. How could she just sit there in the front row looking on as he got married? Would she be able to keep her emotions in check? She’d have to.

  ‘Jules?’ Tessa called. ‘You don’t like the idea of Brenton marrying, do you?’

  ‘Of course I do,’ Juliet insisted. ‘I want him to be happy.’

  ‘Total twaddle!’ Tessa raised her voice.

  Juliet looked around the hall to see if anyone overheard.

  ‘Jules, my girl,’ Tessa continued. ‘I’m about to give you a few reality checks.’

  ‘I need reality checking?’

  ‘Yes, you bloody do! Someone’s gotta do it so it might as well come from me.’

  Juliet picked up her racquet and twirled it around in her fingers. She stared into space. Tessa finished the rest of her drink and looked at Juliet.

  ‘Things have been so cosy for you,’ Tessa started. ‘Keeping the secret of Breanna’s dad, Brenton not living far from you. Whenever he’s sick you going around to his gaff to make sure he’s alright, tucking him up in bed and all that twaddle. You helping out with his taxes and advising him when he started his business. For crying out loud, you even told him what colour scheme to have in his flat!’

  ‘What’s wrong with that?’ asked Juliet.

  ‘You shoulda let him stand on his own two feet! And when he was sick it wasn’t your job to go around there and give him his medicine. He had a mother. And it wasn’t you! But I s’pose it eased your guilt looking after him and helping him. It probably made you feel all good by helping him out. Felt all good inside, did you?’

  ‘I didn’t do it for my guilt,’ Juliet argued, still spinning the racquet in her hands. ‘After all he’s been through he needed my help, encouragement.’

  ‘Up to a certain point, Jules! Whatever happened in his past is not your responsibility to put right, for crying out loud.’

  ‘Mum’s gone,’ Juliet said, now looking at the floor. ‘I’m all he’s got.’

  ‘Twaddle!’ Tessa said. ‘He’s got his mates, he’s got his business and he’s got his own life. At least he should have his own life. He’s a grown man now. Grief! He ain’t that sixteen- or seventeen-year-old who turned up at your gaff with a sob story and a crappy violin.’

  ‘It wasn’t a sob story, Tess.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter what it was,’ said Tessa. ‘You’ve got to let him go. Let him have his own space. Allow him to make his own mistakes, his own fuck-ups. That’s what grown people do, Jules.’

  Juliet dropped the racquet. She sipped her energy drink again and stared vacantly ahead.

  ‘You won’t let it go, will you?’ said Tessa. ‘I can see it in your eyes.’

  ‘Yes I will,’ insisted Juliet. ‘For his sake.’

  ‘No you won’t,’ argued Tessa. ‘Wherever he goes you will have to follow him.’

  ‘You can’t read my mind, Tess.’

  ‘Yes I can, Jules,’ said Tessa softly. ‘I know you. I know you better than you know yourself. You’re used to getting what you want. And you don’t want Brenton out of your life. You have to be in control of things. You’re a control freak. You like it how it is. In fact, since I’ve known you, you have fascinated me. You’re just different. Half the reason why we’re still mates is ’cos I’m trying to work out what makes you tick. And I’ve finally got it.’

  ‘Now who’s talking twaddle?’ chuckled Juliet.

  ‘There’s a lot of twaddle been spoken but it ain’t by me,’ said Tessa, her expression serious. ‘You would like things to be the same. Brenton living nearby, you checking up on him to see if he’s OK to satisfy your guilt, your secret all tucked away. All nice and cosy …’

  ‘You make it sound like I’m a cynical bitch.’

  ‘You said it,’ nodded Tessa.

  ‘What’s this?’ asked Juliet, becoming angry. ‘You’re rubbishing my character now?’

  ‘No, just giving you a reality check. Come on, Jules, I’ve known you for well over twenty years. Listen to me. You had an affair with your half-brother. You had Breanna together. And now you’re crying to me that he’s leaving to make a new life abroad? Something is kinda wrong with that scenario, don’t you think?’

  ‘I wasn’t crying, Tess. Just stating a fact.’

  ‘No! You wanted me to feel sorry for you. Well I ain’t gonna feel sorry for you. I ain’t gonna be all huggy with you and say how much I understand and all that twaddle. You brought this on yourself ’cos you’re spoilt.’

  ‘Oh! I’m spoilt now? That’s nice, Tess! Coming from my supposedly best friend. What else have you got? I’m already a cynical bitch.’

  Tessa’s eyes wandered for a few seconds. She glanced at the ceiling, looked at the Chinese table tennis players and briefly watched the badminton game in front of her before returning her gaze to Juliet. ‘Yes,’ she finally said. ‘Most too-pretty girls are spoilt. Most of ’em don’t even know they’re spoilt.’

  ‘Oh and how do you work that one out?’ asked Juliet, throwing her racquet on the floor and crossing her arms.

  ‘It’s all too easy for very pretty girls,’ said Tessa. ‘At school they don’t have to work hard to make friends like us normal-looking kids. As for the ugly ones, well, they really have to make an effort. Why the fuck do you think they’re so many ugly comedians? Anyway, pretty kids are just popular ’cos of the way they look. Everyone is that little bit more polite to them ’cos of the way they look. They get jobs that bit easier ’cos of the way they look. And you know why? ’Cos male bosses think if they hire a pretty girl there might be a very slight chance of fucking them.’

  ‘Come on, Tess!’

  ‘It’s true,’ insisted Tessa. ‘Remember, Jules, your fir
st job? I was there, remember. I looked at all the CVs. We got over forty. And believe me, Jules; most of the girls going for your job were much better qualified than you. Some of them even had degrees.’

  ‘But I showed ambition and a willingness to learn.’

  ‘So did the other girls who came for an interview,’ said Tessa. ‘But what swung it for you was the fact Baldie fancied you. For crying out loud, Jules, everybody fancied you. They still do. Now, Baldie, even though he was polite, happily married an’ all, he was probably thinking in the back of his bald head, that there might, just might, be a very slight chance of fucking you. Call it male fantasy or what you like … but it’s true. He probably wanked in the toilets over you.’

  ‘Didn’t Baldie hit on you?’

  ‘Yeah, he did,’ answered Tessa. ‘Only because he reckoned he had a little bit more chance of fucking me than you. That’s how men work, Jules. Baldie didn’t want to be totally rejected by you but with me, he reckoned he had a chance. Obviously I told him to fuck himself.’

  Picking up her racquet once more, she twirled it in her hands again. ‘How comes you never said anything to me about this before?’ asked Juliet.

  ‘I was going to when I found out you got the job,’ replied Tessa. ‘But you were alright. You weren’t stuck up. I liked you. Grief! That bank could’ve done with a bit of colour working for it. It was sooo white.’

  ‘So how does all this make me spoilt?’ Juliet wanted to know.

  ‘Because you’re so pretty you’re used to getting what you want. People give you what you want ’cos everyone wants to be next to beauty. Have you ever had to try really hard to get a job?’

  ‘No,’ admitted Juliet.

  ‘Then there you go,’ nodded Tessa. ‘You were a single mother with your brother’s baby, yet you end up marrying a fucking banker! Talk about landing on a pile of shit and somehow coming out clean. And now you live in a house worth, I dunno? Four hundred grand? I grew up in Bermondsey and believe me, Jules, Bermondsey has its fair share of single mothers, just like Lambeth, Peckham or wherever. You’re the only one I know, Jules, who landed a husband earning a six-figure salary and is going to be a fucking MP. Don’t tell me your looks had nothing do with all that. Pretty people are used to getting what they want. You think some fat, ugly, single mum living in some tower block in Rotherhithe will ever end up with a banker husband? No fucking chance. Ain’t gonna happen.’