by Femi Fadugba
This was the Linford I remembered. Petty. Vain. His arrogance his only remedy for his insecurity. It all came flooding back, making me realize how much rosier our relationship looked in the rear-view mirror than when I was in the passenger seat.
But I sat and listened politely. I had no plan B for getting Dr Esso’s data. I was still asking Linford a favour and that favour was still illegal. It helped that I had zero lingering feelings for him. I also suspected that the only reason he was showing off and flirting with me was he didn’t know any other way to talk to girls. No harm done.
‘Fifteen minutes till the download’s done.’ Linford declared. His face lit up as another idea arrived. ‘Just enough time to finish the house tour!’
We started out front, where Linford gave a blow-by-blow account of the day he negotiated fifteen per cent off his matt-black Vespa. Fifteen per cent off of sixteen stacks was a lot, to be fair. But it still meant he had a fourteen-grand scooter parked out front. Mental. No wonder he’d always talked about it like it was his child.
With five minutes left on the download, we headed back upstairs via some stairs on the other side of the house that opened up into an art-littered hallway. The overhead spotlights chased us as we strolled along the corridor, splashing each of my steps in sparkling marble.
‘I love this shade of pink,’ I said, waving at the accent wall on our left.
‘Sick, right?’ Linford agreed. ‘I forget the name. It’s gonna bug me all night if I don’t remember. We’ve got some spare tins in the garage, though – I’ll find out later.’
He ushered us over to the first painting. ‘You know what?’ he said, taking out the lollipop for a second to lick his lips, the way he’d been doing all night. It might have been winter, but nothing justified that level of self-balming. ‘Even with the Damien Hirst and Modupeola paintings we’ve bought, this Zita piece right here is still my favourite.’
I had a feeling that if I sold my kidneys, I still couldn’t afford what he was pointing at. We truly did live on two completely different worlds and wavelengths.
‘See, what I’ve figured out about art,’ he added, ‘is that it’s all about metaphors. The artist’s job is to find the exact colours and patterns needed to pluck the right emotions in the viewer. When it’s done right, a piece can transport you – to the most vivid moments of your life and back. And this girl right here? She’s all over that shit. And, on top of that, she’s from ends, like us.’
Olivia rolled her eyes long enough for Linford to catch some of the rotation.
‘You know my dad came from the baddest block in this town?’ he reminded her. ‘I was born on ends as well, fam. That’s why I’ll never forget where I’m from –’
As he was flashing his credentials, a Dalmatian, with a spiked collar and veins you could see through the dotted fur, skipped into the hallway. It jumped up at Linford, resting its paws on his belt.
‘All right, go on, then, Daisy.’ He bent down and slid his lollipop into the dog’s mouth, letting her lather it with her frothy tongue, before yanking it back into his mouth.
I cringed at the thought I used to kiss this guy. Olivia, on the other hand, was pissing herself with laughter like she’d been doing most of the night.
Linford took a final lick of the (now slobber-covered) lollipop, then walked to the top of the stairs and chucked it on to the ground-floor carpet, watching Daisy storm after it.
‘Everything’s a game of fetch with that girl,’ he said, smirking. His watch beeped. ‘Coolio,’ he said, turning off the timer. ‘Download’s done.’
Literally saved by the bell.
‘You know what.’ Olivia turned to me, cradling her belly. ‘You guys go ahead and grab it. I’m gonna use the bathroom.’
She must have clocked I was moving to follow her. ‘It’s fine, sis,’ she said, already halfway down the hall and walking in an impressively straight line. ‘That data stick is more important than my potty business. I’ll be five minutes. Max.’
‘Two minutes,’ I shouted after her. Surely nothing else could go wrong.
‘Olivia?’ I yelled for maybe the twentieth time. I kept a sweaty grip on the data stick as Linford and I carried on our search for my sister around his giant house. We’d reached the garage – the last place left to look.
‘That’s weird,’ Linford said. He was staring at a giant cabinet with all sorts of DIY tools and materials in it. It looked like someone had had a field day; half the stuff was lying on the floor. ‘I could have sworn I locked up this cabinet.’
Then came the sound of giggling outside. He and I swapped relieved glances at the same time. Olivia.
But as we followed the giggles out the front door Linford’s happy face became one of pure horror. I very nearly laughed when I first saw what Olivia had done, but I held it in just in time – I owed that much to Linford.
‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ Olivia was busy applying a final coat of hot-pink paint on the handlebars of Linford’s most prized possession. His Vespa. ‘The big pink swirls on the body are a metaphor for the chaos in life.’
Linford gagged. For a second, I was convinced he was gonna vomit right there on the welcome mat. Instead he just stared, the muscles up his neck taut. Then he let out a squeal so high-pitched Olivia and I had to cover our ears.
After that it was a chain reaction. First Daisy started barking inside. A few seconds later a light from the house next door came on. Then the next house. Soon the whole neighbourhood lit up like a Christmas tree.
My stomach sank and I swapped a silent look with Olivia. We both knew what happened in a neighbourhood like this when a sensor picked up a scream. Especially a scream that sounded as feeble and pampered as Linford’s.
Just as I’d feared, the neighbourhood sirens started roaring. And my heart sank so deep I thought it might fall out my ass.
‘Drone party!’ Olivia shouted. She dropped her brush to the gravel and started dancing to a beat that, apparently, only she could hear. ‘Drone party: get it, get it. Drone party: get it, get it.’
My vision narrowed to a tunnel as a full tank of adrenaline and alarm poured into me at once. I was in possession of illegal data. Olivia had just vandalized a resident’s property. Neither of us was from around here. I rushed the data stick into my pocket, and, just as I was about to check I hadn’t slipped it into the one with a hole in the bottom, I heard a buzzing noise.
It started as shapeless sound. But, seconds later, a black disc of metal appeared above us. It looked like a tarantula scurrying through the night on six arms, only with spinning blades for toes.
‘Stop twerking!’ I shook Olivia till she faced me. ‘That’s a Met drone. We have to go. Now!’
Before deciding a destination, I yanked both of us into a full sprint, while Linford stayed behind hugging his ’ped.
The drone started a long arcing descent to street level. It was already closer than I expected – moving faster as well. I was most scared for Olivia. She had ankle boots on and wasn’t getting forced into sprint training twice a week like I was. A high-rise was less than a mile up the road. If we got there, we could find cover, maybe even a flat to hide in.
Olivia was wheezing and gasping for air. Her skin had a pale yet sweaty sheen to it. I raced just slightly ahead of her, keeping the gap slim enough to give her hope of catching up, but wide enough that she’d know she really (really) needed to run faster.
But the drone was only twenty metres behind us now and dread was setting fast into my bones. I’d heard stories about those things, read about the ‘accidents’ that happened during arrests. It let out a groan, almost like a door creaking open, which was followed by the SNAP of metal parts locking in place. When I turned back, it had rearranged itself into a new shape – the rotors now bunched at the top to make way for twin laser cannons on its ribs. An upgrade.
How had things escalated to this?! Ten minutes ago, we’d been perambulating in Linford’s hallway staring at art. Now our freedom was on the line. Maybe even our liv
es. All because of a slice of Bakewell tart and some pink swirls on a moped?
‘You are resisting arrest,’ the drone announced in a muscular voice. ‘Your failure to comply leaves me no choice but to engage.’
I never thought this was how it would end: seared down by a floating spider in Peckerly Hills.
‘You have until the count of three.’
I could hear Linford’s distant shouts behind us. ‘Stop chasing them!’ he yelled at the drone as if he had authority over it. ‘The chick in front didn’t do anything!’ His voice trailed off. ‘And I think I still fancy her.’
I almost tripped when I heard it, but within milliseconds my attention was back on the predator above.
I slowed down to get behind Olivia. We had no hope of getting away with the data, but from here, I could at least shield her from some of the laser fire. It was my fault, after all. My idea to come here and get involved in this madness in the first place.
‘Two,’ the drone declared, cocking one cannon, then the other.
Sorry, Mum, I quietly prayed. I did what I could. We braced ourselves, running with our eyes closed, waiting in misery for the robotic ‘one’ to arrive.
But it never did. Instead all Olivia and I could hear was … barking?
We finally unscrunched our eyes and turned to see Daisy clawing at the soft plastic underbelly of the drone, the two cannons already chewed off and scattered across the tarmac beside her.
Linford had caught up, and was fist-pumping the air. ‘Good girl,’ he shouted, as the dog ran back towards him with the drone’s emergency-stop plug in her mouth. Thank God for her life, I thought.
Olivia and I kept running. In fact, we didn’t slow down until almost a mile later, when we saw a bus going in the direction of Tony and Poppy’s house.
By the time we’d climbed to the third level of the bus, we were both drenched in sweat. Olivia collapsed into the seat next to me and, as we caught our breath, I spared a thought for poor Linford. His poor bike. His –
Shit! The data stick!
It wasn’t in my pocket. I aired my trouser legs and it hadn’t fallen in there either. It wasn’t wedged in my trainers or socks. ‘No, no, no, no,’ I said in crushed despair.
Olivia tapped my shoulder. She knew why I was falling apart, but had this annoyingly calm look on her face. She unclenched her palm. The drive was inside. I didn’t know whether she’d picked it up outside Linford’s house, or at some point along our run. Frankly I didn’t care.
No words were spoken. No hugs exchanged. But she got a nod of profound gratitude that came straight from my soul.
Neither of us had the patience to do anything but open his records immediately. We’d risked too much to hold back. Who knew what could happen between here and home??
I put the stick next to my mobile to establish a wireless link, then watched the screen light up. We scrolled through hundreds of files until we finally reached a video, titled: ‘CCTV_01MD/9124-EVIDENCE .mp4’.
It took almost two minutes to unzip the single file, but, when it opened, we watched a dozen kids standing in the same Peckham alleyway I walked past most mornings. One of them was my mum. Another was Dr Esso. I didn’t recognize the others. They were all just standing there in such static silence it could have been a photo.
Then came the gunshots.
CHAPTER 13
Esso · Now
Kato and I were part of the first batch let out for lunch. The second and third groups had just joined the queue, which stretched so far down the hallway the end of it got mixed up with the line for the girls’ toilets.
Rob slid his tray into the spot opposite Kato and me. ‘What you lot saying?’
‘It’s calm, bro,’ I responded, not bothering to face him. I’d spent all of lunch staring at the entrance, waiting for D to walk in. And, so far, there’d been no sign of him or his bredrins. Rumour had it, they’d missed all their classes that morning as well. Meanwhile, four versions of the future were playing themselves out in my head, each time starting with the least likely.
Bloodshed and D have let it go. They’ve changed their minds and deaded the beef …
As long as I take my beating like a man, I won’t go down looking too moist. I might even get some respect from the mandem … which could spell more love from Penny Hill girls as well. Maybe even from Nadia?
I can take him. I’ll surprise him with that sliding kick that Ken does in Street Fighter – I’m pretty sure I saw some guy pull that off in Burgess Park once. I think.
I’ve lost my goddamn mind. With all the trippy stuff that’s happened to me today, the one thing I can count on for certain is that I was with a bunch of gang members when they worked Bloodshed. Which means I’m gonna get worked. I’m gonna get punched up. Or stabbed. Or worse. In fact, I think that was probably the scene I saw in the Upper World.
I’d started calling it that in my head – ‘Upper World’ flowed better than ‘Time-warped Dreamworld Doused in Heat and Lightning’. Sounded cooler as well. I still wasn’t 1,000 per cent bought into all the stuff Dad had written in his notebook, but I was a lot more believing than when I’d first read it. And I was kicking myself for not bringing it to school, wondering if he’d dropped any other hints. Wondering if a day like today was something we had in common.
The fluorescent light flickered, making us look up. The other bulbs on our side of the hall had all packed it in weeks ago, so this one was our last hope.
Kato was combing out his high top with a black-fisted pick as he rehashed the conversation. ‘Yo, Esso – tell Rob all that time-travel bollocks you was just tellin me.’
‘You’re such a prick, you know that?’ I replied. ‘That’s why I don’t tell you nothing.’
Kato slapped his hand on the table and did that laugh where his cheeks and eyes crease up, but no sound comes out. I guess I was naive for thinking he might be able to help, let alone believe, me. He’d already fallen into stitches by the time I’d told him about the Cantor’s-branded headphones I’d spotted up there, but, at the rate the memory was blurring, I had to tell someone before it completely faded. Kato had gone on to ask me a bunch of excruciatingly detailed questions, only to then say, ‘Boss, you took a car to the face today. The sooner you can rub some Vicks on those bruises and back a Red Bull, the sooner you’ll stop chatting nonsense.’ He might as well have patted me on the head.
As the #blackgirlmagic trio – Nadia and her two best mates, Janeen and Kemi – approached our table, I thanked God I hadn’t told Kato about the hallway shenanigans with Nadia. We had a special way of consoling each other, which generally involved turning the next guy’s suffering into an endless stream of jokes. And Kato was the best at it.
Nadia, who for all money looked set to slide right past without acknowledging I existed, stopped and parked her tray next to mine.
Pop! Pop! The gum bubbles in her mates’ mouths burst one after the other. Kemi made sure she sighed long and loud enough that everyone at our table knew what she thought of us. I couldn’t stand that girl. No matter the price of popularity, she was always willing to pay – and always ready to judge anyone who didn’t just throw it in the bag like her.
‘I’ll catch you later on, yeah?’ The pair looked shocked at Nadia’s words, then, once they realized we could see it, rearranged their faces back into nonchalance.
I, meanwhile, focused on taking a quick bite of the sausage I’d been pushing around my plate since the start of lunch. After Nadia sat down, Janeen shook her head one last time, then pulled out her phone to take a photo of the four of us at the table. The pic was bound to end up on the social medias in no time, probably next to her collage of bent-back poses with completely irrelevant inspirational quotes underneath. And, no doubt, a quick scroll down from the post would show some laugh emojis and shade from other girls in our year. There was nothing that scandalous about Nadia sitting next to me. But it was the first time it had happened. It represented change. And, at Penny Hill, change itself was scandal
ous.
‘You ain’t reserved this spot for anyone else, have you?’ Nadia asked. Unlike Janeen’s and Kemi’s plates, hers still had food on it.
As her friends walked off, I caught Mr Sweeney – the baitest creep in the history of secondary education – checking Kemi out from his patrol chair. She blew a kiss as she catwalked past him, making Sweeney turn red and quickly look away, his gold hair flopping behind.
Nadia shook her head at the whole scene – reading between lines I saw just as clearly – then pulled her attention back to our table. ‘Wagwan, guys?’
‘You sure you meant to sit here?’ Rob asked, draping out his pale vine-like arms to cover her tray.
‘I figured since E is on death row, he shouldn’t have to eat his last meal alone with you two dickheads,’ she replied.
Rob pulled his arms away just before she could swat them off, and, as Nadia shuffled in next to me, I tucked my arms against my sides, creating as tight a seal around the stench as possible.
‘Death row?’ Kato asked her, combing out the front edge of his box. ‘I don’t get it.’
‘Yeah, me neither,’ Rob said before Nadia could explain. ‘Is that connected to the time-travel argument you lot were having when I arrived? Also, why am I always last to hear about stuff?’ As usual, he’d found an excuse to have a moan.
‘Time travel?’ Nadia asked.
In summary: Rob and Nadia both knew about my beef with D; Kato knew about my time-travel madness; but no one (except me) had all the pieces, and they each looked equally annoyed about it. Hashing it out now via a four-way convo was long, though. Four times the judgement, four times the number of life-altering questions I still didn’t have answers to.
‘Abeg, abeg – if I’m really on death row, and this is really my last meal, my final, only request is that we change the subject from all of this. Please.’
‘Hold up, boss,’ Kato chucked back. ‘I’m still stuck on this death-row ting. Did you catch some beef, Esso?’
‘Just allow him, man,’ Rob requested. Nadia thankfully nodded in agreement and, by the time I turned to Kato, he was lost in his phone.
