Brenton Brown (5 page)

‘You should’ve seen his face,’ Juliet said, staring blankly over Tessa’s right shoulder. ‘He was so upset. It’s been shit for him watching Breanna grow up with another dad.’

Tessa placed her coffee down on the table and grabbed Juliet’s wrists. ‘You can’t weaken! How’s it going to look after all these years? You told her that you got pregnant after a fumble at a drunken party and that you can’t remember who the dad was. Breanna’s learned to accept that. So has Clayton. Don’t mess it up now ’cos you feel sorry for Brenton. Don’t fall for the
oh it’s shit for me
line. In that children’s home didn’t they beat him up all the time and weren’t he fiddled with?’

‘He wasn’t fiddled with, Tess.’

‘Whatever,
don’t
let him have his way on this one. Protect Breanna.’

‘Maybe she will handle it?’

‘
No!
Jules. What you thinking? Breanna will never trust
anything
you say to her again. And as for Clayton, well, it’ll
certainly
knock you off that virginal perch he’s had you on since you got together with him.’

‘Clayton hasn’t had me on a virginal perch!’

‘Yes he has. Sometimes listening to him I get the feeling he thinks you’re the Virgin Mary reincarnated. The last time you invited me to one of your Town Hall dos we was watching you make a speech and he said, “Doesn’t she make Halle Berry look like a zombie in a Michael Jackson video. She’s beautiful.” I nearly threw up.’

‘Stop it, Tess!’

‘It’s true! The way he doesn’t like to talk about who Breanna’s father is or even discuss the issue. It’s as if he thinks you had some kind of divine conception and you never had sex before you met him.’

‘You’re being ridiculous, Tess.’

‘No I’m not. Look how long it took you guys to have sex after you met. Seven months.’

‘It was five months.’

‘That’s just as bad. What was the matter with him? I still think he’s got a fruity streak going through him.’

‘He’s not gay, Tess.’

‘But he might be bi though. Think about all those business trips he goes on. Maybe he goes up Hampstead Heath for a bit of dogging? Or whatever people call it these days. And he seems at home with all your gay political mates.’

‘I haven’t got any gay political mates.’

‘Yes, you have. That midget one. What’s his name? Tom. That’s it. He’s definitely sooo gay.’

‘No he’s not.’

‘Yes he is! He’s as gay as that
Top Gun
film.’

‘Tom’s not gay. He flirts with me all the time.’

‘Yeah, to make it look like he’s straight. He’s over-compensating. If he ever had his way with you he’d take one look at your naked body, throw up and start crying for mummy.’

‘Trust me, he likes his women.’

‘If you say so, Jules. Anyway, Clayton seems to like being around men like Tom.’

‘He just likes being around shakers and movers.’

‘Yeah, men who shake and move their arse.’

‘Tess!’

‘Five months,’ Tessa took a slurp of her coffee. ‘How old were you when you met? Twenty-three, weren’t it? If I was
twenty-three
and my guy didn’t make a move on me I would’ve thought there’s something wrong.’

‘Clayton’s shy,’ said Juliet. ‘He was traditional, respectful and polite. He came from a church family.’

‘And boring,’ added Tessa. ‘You went from one extreme to the
other. You might’ve known Brenton in the biblical sense and when you first told me I couldn’t believe it but at least he weren’t boring. What was it? Weren’t you tearing off each other’s clothes on the fourth or fifth time you met?’

‘The fifth,’ Juliet remembered.

‘He didn’t place you on any pedestal,’ said Tessa. ‘Going by what you told me it was just raw, animal sex. I could do with some of that right now. Since the divorce I’ve had to resort to all things that buzz. I do miss that part of being married.’

‘Your lamb burger, Miss, and your quarter pounder, Miss,’ the waiter said, placing the plates on the table. ‘I hope it is to your liking, yes?’

‘I’m sure it is,’ nodded Juliet, trying to kill her embarrassment.

‘Thanks,’ giggled Tessa, picking up her knife and fork.

The waiter moved away and Tessa dropped her tone. ‘As I said you went from one extreme to another.’

‘Mum really liked him,’ said Juliet. ‘They got on really well.’

‘You don’t marry somebody all because your mum likes them! Your mum didn’t have to fuck him so why does she have to like him? I still say you marrying Clayton was a guilt thing.’

‘No it wasn’t!’

‘Yes it was! You felt so guilty after the Brenton thing that you tried to make up for it and make your mum feel better by going for boring, safe Clayton. It would have been more exciting in the bedroom if you married a dead castrated pope.’

‘Stop taking the piss, Tess. Clayton’s alright.’

‘Hmm? Only alright?’

‘He’s dependable, never let me down.’

‘Dependable? My fucking hoover is dependable! So is my
hot-water
tap and my Duracell batteries! The thing I keep in my knickers’ drawer never lets me down either. Jules, not once have you ever told me that you want to rush home and shag his arse off. Not once! And by the way if it was a contest of arses then
Brenton wins hands down; he’s still very fit. How long have you been with Clayton now?’

‘Seventeen years.’

‘And in those seventeen years you have never told me what he’s like in bed or if he satisfies you.’

‘Tess!’

‘You told me about Brenton though. In fact you told me in such detail I thought I was shagging him myself.’

‘Enough!’

‘You are touchy about this,’ remarked Tessa, jawing her quarter pounder. ‘I think you still have feelings for him. Admit it.’

‘Of course I do. He’s my brother.’

‘I’m talking about biblical feelings.’

‘That’s ridiculous. It happened a long time ago.’

‘Jules, it’s me you’re talking to. Not one of your Town Hall la-di-da mates.’

‘What are you buying Breanna for her twenty-first?’ Juliet suddenly changed the subject.

Tessa offered Juliet an accusing stare. She took a big bite of her quarter pounder and chased it with a gulp of coffee. ‘You think you are so crafty changing the subject, but I’m going to talk this out with you one day. Breanna? If you’re getting a car for her then I s’pose I’ll get her something for the car. Maybe a toolkit, jump leads and stuff. Something like that. It’s not good for a woman to be stranded. She should know something about starting the damn thing if it breaks down.’

‘That’ll be nice.’

‘She’s my goddaughter,’ said Tessa. ‘And if you go telling her that Brenton is her real dad then I’ll take that flashy handbag of yours and clout you with it.’

Laughing, Juliet replied, ‘Don’t worry, it won’t come to that.’ ‘It better not!’

‘By the way, how you coping financially?’

‘Graham’s already said I can keep the house. He’s moved in with his young slut. I’ve put away a bit and I’ve got a feature film coming up.’

‘Who’s in it?’

‘No one you know, Jules. But I’ll be doing their make-up. Shoot should last about five weeks and fuck if I’m gonna let the taxman know.’

‘So you’re alright for now?’

‘You know me, Jules. I’m a survivor. Fuck all men … apart from the hard-arsed ones … hang on a sec, you think you’re so crafty changing the subject.
Don’t
you give in to Brenton.
Never
tell Breanna the whole, dirty biblical details.’

‘I won’t,’ said Juliet. ‘I promise.’

‘
MAYBE THAT NEW PLACE
in Clapham Common,’ said Breanna on her mobile.

‘Nah,’ came the reply. ‘The guys in there are too dry. Too many of them are wastemen.’

‘But you got a man,’ returned Breanna.

‘No harm in looking though, is there.’

‘I suppose so.’

‘When you gonna introduce me to Malakai?’

‘
Never!
Don’t trust you.’

‘Screw you!’

‘Screw you too.’

‘No, seriously. When.’

‘You might see him tomorrow night if we can decide on a bar or club to go to. In fact, I’m just about to go to Nando’s. Meeting Jazz there. Malakai’s linking me there too.’

‘So you’re letting Jazz see Malakai before me? That is
bad-mind
! Mind they don’t leave the table together.’

‘Jazz ain’t like that.’

‘Ain’t she? I’d meet you there if I didn’t have to cook tonight. Mum’s late from work and my two brothers don’t know where the kitchen is. I’ll see you tomorrow then.’

‘OK, tomorrow, Joanna. And when you see Malakai keep your eyes to yourself.’

‘Don’t worry, Breanna. He’s probably ugly anyway. And if he ain’t you better keep Jazz’s flirting on lock.’

‘You joker. See ya.’

Breanna snapped her mobile closed and opened her wardrobe. She considered changing her clothes but couldn’t be bothered. Instead she cleaned her face with a wet wipe, sprayed her neck and wrists with fragrance and then pondered over her shoe
collection
. She decided to pull on her cream Ugg boots over her black Adidas tracksuit bottoms and her green waterproof
body-warmer
over her grey hoodie.

She left her house and made her way to the bus stop near West Norwood train station. It was a cold evening and she cursed herself for forgetting her gloves. She checked her watch. Seven fifteen. She hoped Malakai wouldn’t be late. She hoped Jazz liked him; Jazz didn’t like the last guy she dated and they didn’t last long. God! she thought. There’s her worrying about what Jazz would think about her new man but Gran is dead! Bree, you’re a dog-heart!

It didn’t seem real looking into her coffin, Breanna recalled. At least that haunted look in her eyes was gone. She wondered what lay behind it. She’d always had it in mind to ask Gran what troubled her over the years but never got around to it. No. That ain’t true, Breanna reconsidered. I was just too scared to ask. Maybe it was just regrets? Or was it living on her own for so long? Mum’s face is beginning to look like Gran’s. She’s starting to develop that same tormented expression. It was there at odd times when she was reading one of her books or when she was watching one of her romantic mini-series DVDs. From a warm smile her expression could change into a sad look in the space of a blink. She’s still so much better looking than me though.

She wondered if Mum ever thought it was a mistake marrying Dad. After all, she pondered, I’m not his. How many men take on women with kids? Maybe because Mum was so good looking it didn’t matter to him that she was a single mother. But their body language is messed up. They sit apart watching television. They never kiss in front of me, not even a goodbye kiss when
one of them is leaving for work. Man! Their generation’s weird. Malakai and me won’t go on like that if we last that long.

Uncle Brenton’s got a chance of a long relationship with Lesley, Breanna thought. She’s alright. He can be intense sometimes but you can have a laugh with him; can’t have a giggle with Dad. Uncle Brenton should settle down with Lesley. It’s obvious she really loves him but her two kids are spoilt. Maybe that’s what’s holding Uncle Brenton back. Wonder what he and Mum were arguing about in the garden?

A 68 bus screeching to a halt stopped Breanna’s thoughts. She had to stand on her journey to Brockwell Park and longed for the day when she could afford a car. She caught the 37 from the park to Brixton and as she passed the Town Hall she guessed her mum was still working there. She wondered if her place of work would be Westminster one day. You’re too damn
ambitious
, Mum, she said to herself.

Nando’s restaurant was opposite Brixton Academy; some band Breanna had never heard of was playing there next weekend. Across the road a bus driver was refusing to proceed because a passenger didn’t want to pay his fare. A toddler was playing up in his buggy at the bus stop and his mother was trying to calm him with chicken nuggets. Breanna kissed her teeth.

Breanna found Jazz sitting in a corner of the restaurant. There were some uppity young blacks there too who wouldn’t be seen dead in a McDonald’s or Kentucky, she reckoned, but they couldn’t afford much more than a Nando’s. She didn’t like the place but Jazz loved it, especially as it was located in the centre of Brixton.

‘What’s up, sis?’ Breanna greeted. She kissed Jazz on her left cheek and gave her a hug.

‘What’s up, girl?’ Jazz returned. ‘So where is he?’

Breanna sat down. She picked up a menu. ‘He’ll be here any minute,’ she said. ‘He better be here.’

‘What you having?’ asked Jazz.

‘The usual. Rice, leg of chicken and roasted corn.’

‘And let me guess,’ continued Jazz. ‘A cheesecake to take home.’

‘You know me too good.’

‘You know it, girl.’

‘Have you ordered?’ asked Breanna.

‘Just my drink.’

‘Then let’s order.’

The two girls made their way to the kitchen counter. Just as they were giving their orders to the waitress, Malakai and a friend arrived. Breanna turned round, spotted Malakai and smiled as wide as a Joker in a
Batman
film. She hugged him tight and kissed him on his left cheek. His jeans were barely covering his backside and Breanna spotted he was wearing dark blue boxers.

‘This is Sean,’ Malakai introduced. ‘He asked if he could come and link us. He’s well hungry.’

‘No problem,’ said Breanna. ‘This is Jazz. One of my best friends.’

Sean’s eyes lingered on Jazz’s heart-shaped, caramel-coloured face. Then his gaze dropped a little to her chest. ‘My bredren’s girlfriend has pretty friends,’ he charmed.

Jazz blushed.

‘You know it,’ continued Sean. He turned to Breanna. ‘And I’m sorry about losing your gran.’

‘That’s alright … So you’re going around the place calling me your girlfriend?’ Breanna laughed turning to Malakai. ‘I
better
be the only one. I know how you guys stay. You have links here, there and everywhere.’

Guilt struck Breanna again. Should she be laughing a day after Gran got buried? she asked herself. Gran would have wanted me to carry on, she convinced herself. To live my life.

‘How many times do I have to say I’m not into that?’ pleaded Malakai.

Ten minutes later they all settled down to eating various
portions
of chicken, fries, rice and roasted corn. Napkins littered their table. Breanna sipped wine and the others drank lemonade and cola. Breanna noticed that Jazz was quieter than usual.

‘So, Malakai,’ said Sean. ‘Breanna already invite you round to her gates. Bredren, seems like t’ings are getting serious. You only linked a few weeks ago.’

‘Not that serious,’ replied Malakai.

Breanna gave Malakai a playful punch.

‘It was at the reception after the funeral,’ continued Malakai. ‘Breanna asked me to reach and pay my respects. I met her family. Her Uncle Brenton and everybody.’

‘Uncle Brenton?’ repeated Sean.

Jazz and Breanna paused their eating. ‘You know my uncle?’ asked Breanna.

‘His name rings a bell,’ said Sean. ‘Can’t be that many
Brentons
around. Not with a name like that. Think my mum might know him.’

‘Oh lordy Lord,’ laughed Jazz. ‘Your mum didn’t go out with my girl’s uncle, did she?’

Everyone laughed except Sean. He smiled politely. Breanna guessed there was some kind of connection or hidden history behind that smile.

‘No, it was nothing like that,’ Sean finally answered. ‘I think they just knew each other back in the day. Friends maybe? It ain’t no biggie.’

‘Lordy Lord!’ exclaimed Jazz. ‘That’s a relief.’

‘What do you mean that’s a relief?’ challenged Breanna. ‘What’s wrong with going out with my uncle?’

‘He is a bit … scary,’ answered Jazz. ‘With those eyes of his. Whenever I see him he always looks like he’s planning to eat
somebody ’cos someone put shit in his best Nikes or something. And that scar on his neck. Ugh!’

Sean stilled as if suddenly frozen.

‘He’s just quiet and shy,’ countered Breanna. ‘When you get to know him he can be really funny. Wasn’t you there, Jazz, when he told us when he was a yout’ he used to go out on street looking for cigarette butts. And he used to t’ief milk and bread from a milk float.’

‘He sounds crazy to me,’ said Jazz. ‘But I s’pose everyone’s got a mad relative somewhere.’

‘He’s not crazy,’ argued Breanna. ‘He had a hard-knock life.’

‘Maybe he got too many knocks on his head?’ laughed Jazz.

‘Them old-school days were rough though,’ added Malakai. ‘My mum told me her older brother had to get the paraffin bottle before he went to school. When he reached school he stank out the classroom with his paraffin fumes all on his uniform.
Brothers
would chase him down in the playground with boxes of matches. Old-school times weren’t easy. Believe.’

From a small name-brand rucksack that was draped over his chair, Malakai took out a gift-wrapped box. He placed it on the table and grinned widely. ‘I dunno if Brenton searched the streets of Bricky for cigarette butts but I thought he was cool,’ he said. ‘He was about the only one out of the older ones who took time chatting to me at the wake. Anyway, Bree. This is for your birthday. Hope you like it.’

Cleaning her fingers with a napkin, Breanna wasted no time unwrapping the box.

‘Ain’t you supposed to wait until the day of your birthday,’ protested Jazz. ‘You’re so fast, girl.’

The box contained a bottle of perfume. ‘Is it the real t’ing?’ asked Breanna, checking the labels. ‘Not a fake from Nine Elms market or East Street?’

‘What you take me for?’ protested Malakai. ‘Course it’s the
real t’ing. When I come buying presents for
my
girl I come proper. You understand.’

Leaning over the table, Breanna cradled Malakai’s cheeks with her hands and kissed him on the mouth. ‘Thanks, choc.’

‘I told you she’d like that,’ said Sean. ‘Man can’t go wrong when he buys his girl a proper perfume. Chicks love that.’

‘You two better behave yourself,’ warned Jazz. ‘I ain’t getting fling out ’cos of you two getting it on. I still wanna get my cheesecake.’

‘What’s with the choc?’ Sean wanted to know.

‘That’s my nickname for Malakai,’ explained Breanna. ‘Don’t you think his complexion is like milk chocolate?’

Jazz picked up the bottle of perfume and she inspected it like a Z-list celeb studying an article about themselves in a tabloid. ‘Mind my girl don’t lick your complexion off,’ she joked.

After everyone bought a cheesecake to take away, Sean walked with Jazz and Malakai stepped with Breanna. He had his right arm around her shoulders and they soon lagged twenty yards or so behind the others.

‘So your dad is not your real dad?’ Malakai said.

‘No,’ answered Breanna. ‘Him and Mum got together when I was about two years old or something.

‘Do you know your real dad?’

‘No. Mum said it was one of those t’ings. You know. A
one-night
stand kinda t’ing.’

‘Your mum? A one-night stand? She seems so …? What you call it? Don’t be offended but a little bit … stush.’

‘Yeah, so everyone says,’ said Breanna.

‘She must have an idea who your dad is. Haven’t you ever asked her about it?’

‘Yeah I did. Nuff times. But I gave up after a while. She’s
sticking
to her story.’

‘What story?’

‘Back in the day she went to some party. Someone made some hash cakes. The chronic was burning. Everyone had a proper buzz on, drinks were flowing and Mum ended up in a bedroom with some guy. She was so out of it she doesn’t remember who she was with or what happened. Two months or so later she found out she was pregnant with me.’

‘And you believe that?’

They were passing under the bridge in Brixton High Street. A train rattled overhead. A sudden gust disturbed debris alongside the kerb. Breanna secured the top button of her body-warmer. She paused and looked at Malakai. ‘No. I never believed it,’ she finally answered. ‘But if Mum wants me to believe her story then I will. I don’t want to dig deeper ’cos the truth might be
something
a lot worse. I think she was raped.’

‘Raped!’

‘It’s a mad guess but it would explain a lot,’ reasoned Breanna. ‘You should see photos of Mum when she was young. She was beautiful. Still is. Even now I see men much younger than her step up to her. I wish I got all of her looks.’

‘You’re beautiful too,’ said Malakai.

‘Sometimes Mum’s so sad,’ resumed Breanna, ignoring Malakai’s compliment. ‘So was Gran. You know when
someone’s
smiling but you can still see their pain? Them two were like that. Mum’s still like that. It’s like they knew something but they won’t tell me ’cos they know it would hurt me.’

‘Their generation went through a lot,’ said Malakai. ‘My mum’s kinda sad too. She split up from Dad when I was about five. She’s had about four boyfriends since then but all of them let her down. She’s always cussing about black men and when she does I feel kinda bad. I’m a grown-up black man now. I’m twenty-three. Makes me wonder if one day I’ll make a good dad.’

‘Do you still see your dad?’

‘Now and again. He lives in Crystal Palace with some white
girl. Younger than him. They got a six-year-old daughter.
Precious
is her name. My baby sister. Mum don’t like me calling Precious my sister. So I don’t tell Mum when I visit her.’

‘It’s good that you see her though.’

Stopping at the bus stop outside Brixton market, they caught up with Jazz and Sean. The cold air couldn’t quite quench the smell of rotting vegetables, spoilt fruit and stale fish. No one was paying any attention to the ranter with a microphone outside Brixton tube station. Close to him was a tall rasta selling incense sticks; he wasn’t getting much trade.