by Alex Wheatle
Hearing the crash behind him, Clayton pulled up and leaped out of his rental car to take a look. He climbed back in and performed a u-turn to take a better view. He saw Brenton’s mutilated body protruding out of the windscreen; he wasn’t wearing a seat belt.
Holding his head in his hands, Clayton closed his eyes. ‘Oh my God!’ he whispered. ‘Oh my God! Oh my God!’
He composed himself enough to dial 911 on his mobile and he checked on the driver of the large truck; he was in shock but had only superficial cuts and bruises. Other motorists were stopping and coming out of their cars.
Taking in a deep breath, Clayton returned to his car and drove the three hundred yards to Brenton’s house. He saw Juliet walking towards him with her arms folded. He parked the car and waited for her. Residents were emerging from their homes to see what had happened.
Juliet reached Clayton. ‘I’m, I’m so sorry,’ he said.
Juliet didn’t seem to have heard him. Staring ahead she could see the back end of Brenton’s pick-up truck pointing towards the pavement. Her steps were measured and calm. Her gaze didn’t falter.
‘I’ll, I’ll drive you the rest of the way,’ Clayton offered.
Ignoring Clayton’s offer, Juliet walked straight ahead, arms folded and staring vacantly in front of her. It was as if she knew already that Brenton had passed. The further she walked the more she could see of the devastation. By the time she reached the crash scene, sirens were sounding in the distance. Clayton tried to comfort her the best way he could as ambulance men cut Brenton’s body free of the wreckage. Juliet watched calmly. She didn’t listen to anything that was being said.
When Brenton’s body was finally laid on a stretcher in a black body bag, Juliet walked up to him. ‘I’m his sister,’ she said to the medics.
She unzipped the body bag to reveal Brenton’s bloodied head. His eyes were now closed. She knelt down and placed her left palm on his cheek. She kissed him on the forehead. The medics looked at her. She unzipped the body bag further and took out Brenton’s left hand. She brought it to her left cheek and closed her eyes. She opened them again before carefully replacing the hand. Clayton looked on. She kissed Brenton on the forehead and then the lips. She wiped something from his nose. She traced her right finger over the contours of his face. She ran her fingers over his head before kissing it. She dropped her head as she zipped up the body bag. She stood up. Brenton’s blood was on her face and her hands. ‘OK,’ she said, still gazing at the body bag.
The medics wheeled Brenton into the waiting ambulance. Juliet stood watching as the police interviewed witnesses. Clayton went to comfort her but she didn’t acknowledge him.
It was Clayton who arranged for Brenton’s body to be flown back to London. He and Juliet didn’t exchange a word until they were flying halfway across the Atlantic. Climbing out of his business class seat, Clayton walked down to where Juliet was sitting in economy class. She was staring vacantly out the window. ‘If you are …’ he said in a whisper. ‘If you are worried then don’t be. I will never tell Breanna. She doesn’t deserve that.’
Juliet kept on gazing out the window.
‘As for us,’ Clayton resumed. ‘I’ll … I’ll leave any talk of divorce for now. I don’t want the media saying I’m a heartless bastard for filing for divorce when you have just buried your brother.’
Juliet didn’t respond.
‘But we’ll have to deal with that eventually,’ Clayton continued. ‘At the end of the day I want someone to, er, feel for me the way you … you felt for him. I want to be with someone like that. You understand?’
‘Of course you do,’ said Juliet. She still stared out of the window. ‘I’m sorry that someone couldn’t have been me … real sorry.’
‘Yes.’
At last Juliet turned around to face Clayton. ‘Thanks for everything. I was in no state to …’
‘I know,’ said Clayton. ‘I’m, I’m going back to my seat now. We’ll talk when we land … I still don’t understand why you wanted to fly economy class?’
Juliet nodded and offered a weak smile.
Epilogue
ARRIVING HOME FROM BRENTON’S FUNERAL, Floyd went to his kitchen, took a bottle of whisky from a cupboard, poured it into a glass and mixed it with Coca-Cola. He dropped in three ice cubes and took his drink upstairs to his bedroom. He sat down on the chair facing his computer screen, put his glass down on a mouse pad and loosened his black tie. He took a sip of his drink, recoiled slightly as the whisky hit the back of his throat and stared into the blank computer screen. ‘Too much whisky,’ he whispered to himself.
As he took a second sip, his wife, Sharon, entered the bedroom. She took off her jacket, draped it over a chair and threw her handbag on to the bed. She walked over to Floyd, cupped his jaw and kissed him on the forehead. She then sat down on the bed, propped up by a family of pillows. Floyd switched on his computer.
‘I was crying more than everybody,’ Floyd admitted. ‘Just couldn’t keep it in.’
‘Most of us felt like that,’ Sharon replied. ‘Breanna was in bits. But Juliet? She seemed like she was in a different world. She didn’t say a word to me or anyone. She was all calm-like. Too calm. It was weird. It was like she was there but not there.’
‘Did I tell you?’ Floyd said, ignoring Sharon’s remarks. The computer screen flickered into life. Using the mouse he clicked on to Hotmail. He took another sip from his drink. ‘Brenton sent me an e-mail on the day of the crash.’
‘No, you didn’t tell me,’ said Sharon. ‘What did he say?’
‘I’ll read it to you. I didn’t see it till yesterday but here it goes. Yo, Floyd. I know people say it’s wrong but it just feels right. In fact it feels perfect. It was unbelievable last time and even better this time. It’s like God made her for me. Serious. Nuff years have gone by but the way we feel hasn’t changed a damn thing. I can’t really put it into words but I feel so good right now. It’s like we have no say about the way we want each other. There hasn’t been a day when I haven’t thought about her, you know, being with her. It’s like fate. Serious. How can that be so wrong? It’s like God wanted it this way. There’s only her. Gonna drive her to Disneyland in a couple of days. I just enjoy being with her, you know, listening to her. It’s not all about the sex as you once said it was. Just watching her eating my cooking gives me a buzz. Anyway, laters for now. I hope you can reach in the new year. Oh, by the way, say hello to your mum for me and everybody else. Laters.’
‘Hmm,’ Sharon replied.
‘What do you mean hmm?’
‘Since you told me about Brenton and Juliet you’ve always told me about this they had no choice t’ing. They were fated to be together and all that.’
‘Yeah,’ nodded Floyd. ‘I believe that. Them two were meant to get together at some point. There was no escaping it.’
‘Rubbish!’ countered Sharon. ‘They had choice. Brenton convinced himself that he had some kind of destiny to be with Juliet. He wouldn’t consider anything else because he thought that he was fated to be with her. He had choices, Floyd. It didn’t have to be that way.’
‘He didn’t have a choice,’ argued Floyd. ‘From the day he saw her that was it! Boom! He was on her. He was lost on her. And it was the same for her.’
‘They were arrogant,’ said Sharon. ‘They thought they could break all the rules. They behaved like they were gods or somet’ing. Say everyone did what they did? The world would be in fucking chaos! Sometimes I fantasise about Denzel Washington but it doesn’t mean I would risk everyt’ing and sleep with him! That’s what they did! Risked all. They didn’t give a fuck about anyone else. It was a fuck-up when they first got together and an even bigger fuck-up to do the same t’ing a whole heap of years later. He could have chosen another life instead of forever waiting for the great beautiful Juliet Hylton to finally go to him. There was Lesley who was perfect for him. He fucked that up. And Shyanza who was real nice and loved him. But no! Brenton wouldn’t consider that. Wh
y was he running away from marrying Shyanza? And you know why? ’Cos he had this fucked-up t’ing in his head that there was only Juliet for him. Only her! That’s the tragedy.’
‘But he believed that,’ said Floyd. ‘That was his reality. He really believed that Juliet was made for him.’
‘And I s’pose you’re gonna tell me it was the same for her?’
‘Yes, it was!’
‘No! Floyd. They didn’t allow anyt’ing else to develop with anybody else. Even Juliet marrying Clayton was a smokescreen. In her mind she still wanted Brenton. You know, think about it. With her looks and t’ing Juliet could’ve had anybody she wanted. If she wanted some kinda thrill to nice up her sex life she coulda chose someone a bit more discreet. But her brother? I’ve always had serious issues with that. Of all the men in the world she coulda chosen she chose her fucking brother!’
‘But don’t every woman in the world want to follow their heart and be with the man of their so-called dreams?’
‘Yes they do,’ answered Sharon. ‘But ninety nine point nine per cent of all women accept that they can never have their dream lover, their fantasy man, their Denzel Washington. They look at other options. After they have their teenage crushes on Denzel or Brad Pitt they decide on someone else and learn to love them. That’s the way it is for most of us. But no! Not for Juliet. Not for Brenton. Like I said they behaved like gods. They thought there were no rules for them.’
Floyd drank the rest of his whisky and Coke. He placed his glass down and his eyes misted over. Sharon got off the bed and went to him. She held his left hand, caressed it and kissed it. Tears ran down his face.
‘He was like a brother,’ he said. ‘More than a brother. Brothers I know always have issues with each other. But with Brenton …’
‘I know,’ nodded Sharon.
‘Even if he lived his life woulda been a torment. You know, without her. It was killing him while he was living here, you know, to see her and Clayton …’
‘It would have been a torment because he convinced himself that he had to have her,’ said Sharon.
She stood up, walked behind Floyd and placed her arms around his neck.
‘That was his fate,’ argued Floyd. ‘Her fate too. They couldn’t escape it. But you know what? Maybe you’re right. They did go on like they’re gods. What man or woman doesn’t want to feel the way they did when they were together?’
Sharon thought about it. ‘I have to agree on that,’ she said. ‘They really went for what they thought would make them happy. But what a price he paid. What a price she’s going to pay.’
‘But isn’t that what it’s all about?’ asked Floyd. ‘What’s the point in living if you don’t go all out to do what makes you happy?’
THE END
Acknowledgements
I’D LIKE TO SAY THANKS to the usual suspects who have kept me going through this writing lark; my family, Laura Susijn, Courttia Newland, Kolton Lee, Nadifa Mohamed, Mia Morris, Yvonne Archer, Mark Norfolk, Shayne Donnelly, Denise Grossett, Gaverne Bennett, Barbara LeVette and her posse down at the Children’s Discovery Centre, numerous public, prison and school librarians and so many more.
A big thank you to my son, Marvin, for the brilliant cover art and a special mention to Jatinder, Jonathan, Katie and the rest of the crew down at Tara Arts who helped me produce my one-man Uprising show which tells the story behind Brixton Rock and Brenton Brown.
For more information on the good work of Streatham Youth Community Trust please go to: http://streathamyouthandcommunitytrust.org.uk
‘The biggest man you ever did see was once a baby,’ Bob Marley
About the Author
ALEX WHEATLE, of Jamaican origin, was born in South London. He is a founder member of the Crucial Rocker sound system, for whom he has written lyrics for performances. Alex is now working with Book Trust to introduce literature to the dispossessed; to this end he organises and holds workshops in prisons and young adult institutions. His fiction includes Brixton Rock (BlackAmber), The Seven Sisters, East of Acre Lane (re-issued by Harper Perennial), Checkers (co-written with Mark Parkham) and most recently, Island Sounds (Allison & Busby).
Copyright
First published in 2011
by Arcadia Books,
15-16 Nassau Street,
London, W1W 7AB
This ebook edition first published in 2011
All rights reserved
© Alex Wheatle 2011
The right of Alex Wheatle to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly
ISBN 978–1–908129–47–5
