Brixton Rock (20 page)

Floyd enjoyed his mid-afternoon snack, although he thought the generation gap between his mother and himself had grown the length of the Brixton dole queue. Mrs Francis sat opposite him, busying herself in some dark concern. “So you nuh wait fe your fader to reach 'ome?”

“No! Since when does he listen to me anyway? He cares more about the maaga dogs dem running at Hackney on a Saturday morning.”

“Dat's not true, Floyd.”

“Then how comes when I used to play some ball for my school on Saturdays, he couldn't drag his miserable self out of the damn bookie shop to watch me play? I wouldn't partial, but he never won a red cent! The damn fool!”

Mrs Francis fell silent, like an accused on trial just hearing some granite, conclusive evidence to sway the jury into a Guilty verdict. The pleasant smile she usually wore struggled to make a return. The truth was hard to accept and wreaked havoc in her tolerant heart. Her husband was a bad father to Floyd, she concluded. But not to his daughters.

Satisfied that he had his mother examining her marriage, Floyd prepared to leave.

“When will you look fe me again?” Mrs Francis asked, her eyes pleading and sorrowful.

“I dunno; maybe when you boot Paps out of the yard and dash his garments all over Brixton Market.”

With those last stabbing lyrics, Floyd departed, leaving his mother to search for her smile, while he regretted that he'd forgotten to ask about Uncle Herbie.

J
uliet reposed at the foot of her bed, gazing at one particular birthday card, and refusing to allow sleep to claim her. The luminous green hand of her little bedside clock ticked past 1:00 am. Then she picked up the card and read the wording for the eleventh time:
To
a
special
sister
on
her
birthday.

Juliet had tried to pretend that Brenton didn’t share her blood, but the message in the birthday card was like a beacon of fire spelling the truth out in flames. Her love affair with her brother was no dream but very real. ‘What have I done?’ she whispered.

Despite her pangs of guilt, she knew her love for Brenton had grown strong. Juliet wondered how long she could live a lie in front of her mother. Since her brother had announced himself, on that stormy January night, she had witnessed the once-redundant smile of her mother, gradually etch back into her face. The years of torment Ms Massey had endured were now fading away, like the night making way for the day.

The relationship between mother and son was not ideal, she thought, but it was improving all the time. And here she stood, having a potentially catastrophic and illegal affair with her brother.

How could she stop this secret love affair? Did she want to stop it? Her desire for Brenton had become addictive, and now she recognised her habit and wanted to cure it. Otherwise, where would this affair end? Surely in shame and scandal! They could never marry. Even if they lived together, they would have to keep a
low profile, and be careful at all times. If only they didn’t share the same mother. Then Juliet could introduce Brenton to Hilary and other friends. They could rave together and do the things normal couples did.

She tried to push back down the slipping lid on her emotions and wondered how her friends would react if they knew the truth. She imagined Hilary saying, ‘Here’s virginal Juliet, who’s always choosy on what man she goes out with, and she’s screwing her brother.’

By contrast, Brenton was at ease with the situation. One night, he even suggested they should tell all to their mother! Juliet totally dismissed the suggestion, thinking Brenton was a bit high after a serious lovemaking session. Supporting her head in her hands, she peered through her nail-varnished fingers and stared at the birthday card once more. Then she closed her eyes and relived the evening’s events.

Brenton had invited her to the hostel, where he gave her, along with the card, a gold chain with a heart-shaped gold locket hanging from one of the links. Juliet had carefully pressed the spring and the locket opened. Inside was a small piece of paper. She unfolded it and read:
Love
you
always.
Shortly afterwards, they made sweet, beautiful love. One look into her lover’s eyes told her he meant every word he wrote.

When she was alone with Brenton, Juliet felt God blessed her life. She always sensed the adrenaline hose through her body when she gazed at him. His face possessed an encyclopaedia of pain, torment and joy, etched into every pore. He would find it simply impossible to hide any emotion he felt, and she found that irresistible.

Sighing, she rose to turn off her bedroom light and thought about ending the relationship. Easier thought than done. How could she face Brenton and tell him it was all over? Maybe she could go away for a while? Perhaps she could apply for a transfer to another branch for work? Or would that be running away from her problems?

Juliet lay in bed, racking her brains to find a solution. Finally, she decided to take the next day off from work, and use the time to think things through properly. The stress had been making her feel sick and dizzy, so she would visit her GP for a routine check-up, which would provide an ideal excuse for her day off.

The next morning, Brenton awoke in a bubbling mood. He rose early, giving himself plenty of time to get to work. But the familiar sight of snarling traffic on the Walworth Road frustrated him.

The bus snailed towards the Elephant and Castle as the fortunate ones, who lived in the concrete jungle, set off to work.

Brenton idly watched a young mother, carrying a wailing child and pushchair, struggle to board the bus. Only after the number 45 had crawled another half-mile did he realise that the parent was Sharon’s sister.

From his vantage point on the upper deck, Brenton observed the East Street marketers prepare their stalls. While stuck at the traffic lights he watched a council roadsweeper. Dressed in dull blue overalls, the ageing black man pushed his trolley, containing an over-used black plastic dustbin, alongside the kerb, sweeping all litter before him as he pondered his day ahead. By some sort of sixth sense, the old man realised he was being watched from above, and glanced up at Brenton with Caribbean-longing eyes.

Brenton wondered what was wrong with the world. It was a glorious, sunny day, he had work to do, which was no mean feat in the present economic climate, and he was well deep in love. He had never bought anyone a birthday present before, so he felt proud of the gift he had given to Juliet.

The site Brenton had worked on for the past week was a short two-minute step from Elephant and Castle Tube station. Three-and four-storey houses there were being converted into flats. As Brenton approached the site, he was greeted by the foreman.

Dressed in a grubby white T-shirt and cement-stained, fading blue jeans, Keith looked troubled as he pulled on an almost extinct
snout. “All right, mate? ’Ere, Brenton, got some bad news, like. You know, it’s sort of out of my hands.”

Brenton halted within a few feet of his boss. The foreman threw his fag on the pavement, then trod on it, not lifting his foot off until he’d extinguished all the smoke. “I always get the dirty work. I’ve been told to tell you we have to let you go after today. There ain’t a lot of work about. I mean, after this job, there’s not much else.”

Brenton stood absolutely still with shock, only his eyes displaying any sign of animation. Keith continued, “Sorry to do this to you, mate. As you know, I always try and do my best for blacks like you. You know, offering a bit of work here and there. So it ain’t because of your colour. It’s just the way it is. Sorry, mate.”

The feel-good factor Brenton had been experiencing evaporated into a mood of dejection. He dropped himself onto a small wall just in front of the site, not believing what he’d just heard.

“Look, er, we’ll give you two weeks’ money and I’ll make sure to call you myself when work picks up a bit, all right? So you never know, maybe in a month’s time, you’ll be working for us again.”

Brenton didn’t appear to be listening. Obviously disappointed, he stood up with head bowed, walked into the half-constructed building. “Oh Keith, when you were talking about you do the best for blacks, well, I’ve got a white paps,” he said tonelessly.

“Oh, I never knew. I guessed you was, you know … Er, sorry if I caused offence, I didn’t realise.”

Brenton turned his back on his foreman and began work on his last day of employment for the foreseeable future. Keith read his watch – a quarter past eight.

8:15 am it read on Juliet’s watch. Feeling queasy and not wanting to travel on the Underground network, she had gone to work by bus. A conversation with her mother earlier in the morning was still fresh in her mind. Noticing how quiet and withdrawn Juliet had become, Ms Massey had wondered aloud
whether anything was wrong. Juliet could sense her mother tuning into her tension, which made her feel very uncomfortable.

“You would tell me if somet’ing was wrong?” Cynthia fretted.

“Of course.”

Now, on the bus, she suffered the tremendous guilt of that lie. She had changed her mind about taking the day off, not wanting time to brood on her worries. But work proved difficult in her present frame of mind. She was irritable and unusually
quick-tempered
with her work colleagues. Even Tessa noticed the ‘don’t joke with me’ mood. But rather than ask what was troubling her, Tessa guessed it was the time of the month thing.

Juliet sat at her desk, trying to bury herself in her work, but there was no escaping the turmoil. Might as well have stayed at home, she thought. Peace only came when she decided to call on Brenton later that evening.

Brenton arrived home from work in time for afternoon tea, or usually, in his case, a packet of crisps and a Special Brew. He slapped on Mr Lewis’s door, but there was no response, so he trundled off towards the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

As he switched on the kettle, he heard Floyd bounding down the stairs. “I’ll have two sugars in mine, thanks.”

His spar didn’t answer. Instead, Brenton simply took out another mug from the cupboard. Floyd, who for once was not at his most well-dressed, wondered why his brethren was back from work so early. “What-a-gwarn? How comes you reach home so early?”

Pouring the boiling water into the mugs, Brenton had a temper warning alarm in his eyes. “I was laid off today. They don’t need me for a while. The foreman told me there’s not a lot of work about.”

Floyd took a seat at the kitchen table. “A couple of my brethren had the same t’ing happen to dem. Y’know, they were doing the same t’ing as you. Then one day, they turned up for work and got the Wellington boot.”

“Is it?”

“I was chatting to Sharon the other day, and she says this is the start of a recession. Seems like nuff people are gonna cork up the dole house.”

Brenton stirred his drink furiously, spilling some on the table. “No matter how you try, t’ings just don’t work out. I’ll never get another job. If I had the chance, I’d shoot the saps who run this country.”

Floyd witnessed a dangerous emotion buttering over his friend’s face, and then he watched him trudge slowly into the hallway and up the stairs. Brenton disappeared into his room, still holding his mug of tea. “I’ll have to tell Lewis about dis,” Floyd told himself.

Three hours later, Brenton lay stretched out along his bed,
half-asleep
and half-awake. He was trying to focus on Mr Dean, who stared moodily back at him from the bedroom door. He squinted hard to behold a clear image of the late film star. Then he closed his eyes, feeling utterly exhausted.

A minute later, he was brought out of his doze by a knock on the door. Yawning, he opened it to find a solemn-looking Juliet. Not wanting to appear depressed, Brenton smiled at his sister, but his eyes betrayed him. She raised a half-smile back and sat down on the bed. Placing her handbag on the floor, she nervously inspected her manicured fingernails. “You all right then?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah.”

“Look, I have to talk seriously with you.”

“What about?”

“About us.” She braced herself. “I don’t know quite how to say this, and I don’t mean to hurt you, but we, er, we can’t go on like this. I feel so guilty, and it’s tearing me apart. Can you understand that?”

Brenton gazed at his sister, disowning his ears. “What do you mean? We get on great, what are you saying? You haven’t told Mum, have you?”

“No, of course not.” Juliet tried to control her trembling hands by gripping them together. “For the past few weeks I haven’t had any peace of mind. I can’t sleep at night. I mean, what does the future hold for the both of us? We can never marry or even live together.”

“NO! YOU CAN’T DO THIS!”

“I just hope we can still talk to each other. I still love you and I always will. But I can’t go on like this, it’s making me ill with worry and guilt.”

Looking down at the carpet while clawing his temple, Brenton shook. His redundancy from his job was like a bullet in the arm, but Juliet’s announcement felt like a toxic cannon blasting through his skull. He tried hard to remain calm and not show any emotion, but he failed. His sister couldn’t control her feelings either, and began weeping.

“How do you expect me to pretend that we are a friggin nice normal brother and sister after what we’ve done?” Brenton exploded. “You told me yourself, in this very room, that you’ve never been happier! Why do you want to fuck up something that was so good? Was it all lies, what you said to me in the fucking bed? This ain’t no blasted joke, I really liked you. Shit, I still do, and I thought you felt the same. Why all of a sudden you wanna fuck it up?”

“I can’t do this to my mother. I can’t!”

“What do you mean, you can’t? You already have. What the fuck you talking about?”

“Look Brenton, listen to me, please.”

Brenton’s lips quivered with emotion, his eyes watering.

Juliet stuttered on, “It’s true, I have never been happier. But this ain’t a dream, it’s real. You are my brother. For God’s sake, we share the same mother! We can go to jail after what we’ve done.”

“Then let’s go away. Let’s fuck off somewhere far away where nobody knows us.”

“That won’t change t’ings. No matter where we go, you are still my brother.”

Glaring at his sister, who was crying uncontrollably, Brenton stood up. “SHIT.” Then he remembered Biscuit’s nickname for him - ‘The stepping volcano’ - and he thought, Gotta stay cool. Mustn’t erupt.

For the next minute, there was total silence as the siblings dwelt on their immediate future. Then Brenton, becalmed, whispered: “Somehow I knew it wouldn’t last; it was too good to be true. I suppose it’s like one of those nice dreams that has to end.” His eyes mirrored death.

Juliet, bitterly upset, embraced her brother in one last gesture of love as Brenton emitted an eerie silence. The emotive face that bewitched her now scared her; she had to get out. For she would either spend the night caressing away his pains, or go insane with guilt. Her heart begged her mind to stay, but her mind refused.

“You’ll be all right, won’t you?”

Brenton nodded his head unconvincingly. Juliet made a tearful departure, with her brother listening to her footsteps clumping down the stairs. He thought of the beast station cell door as he heard the front door clang.

For the rest of that night, Brenton did not venture outside his room. He tried to make sense of the day’s proceedings, but failed. Why had everything sweet to him in life exploded in his face? Should he have pleaded with Juliet to carry on with their relationship? Or would that be selfish? He’d never felt so hurt before and he didn’t know how to handle it. Maybe it was Fate. He was not supposed to be happy as far as Fate was concerned. His life was destined to be an endless struggle against the odds. With that thought in his mind, he pondered on taking his own life and ending his tribulation.