Musclebound (18 page)

I know what Simone was thinking about. Once, when we was six or seven, Ma won a lucky draw on one of her catalogues. A letter came which said, ‘You have won the chance to win fifty thousand pounds,’ and Ma got all excited ‘cos she never won anything before. This letter said all she had to do was choose two of a dozen items and order them, and that way she’d be eligible for the Grand Prize Draw.

Ma ordered some anti-static rinse to keep her undies tangle-free and a tooth-bleaching kit and she sat back and waited.

A second letter came, and it said she hadn’t won the Grand Prize but she’d come so close they were going to give her a twenty-quid voucher and a set of hand towels absolutely free. She didn’t have to order anything else.

Only by that time, Ma had pissed away the rent so she couldn’t even afford to pay for the anti-static rinse and the tooth-bleaching kit. So her catalogue company never sent her the voucher or the hand towels and she didn’t even get the anti-static or the tooth bleach. She got nothing at all. And Simone said she was down the price of the stamp.

Remembering that, Simone said if Ma used to be the sort who gave up fifty thousand pounds or a twenty-quid voucher for a night out at the pub, then she’d most likely settle for what she could screw out of me now. She’d blitz it all away and then forget about it. Simone said people didn’t change for the better over the years. They just stayed themselves and got worse.

Simone said the joker in the pack was Andy. She’d have to be
very careful with Andy. He kept saying he was only doing what was right for Ma, but Simone thought he was calling the shots for his own advantage. Andy didn’t trust Simone. That’s why he followed her to the yard. He was the one she had to convince about the one thousand one hundred and sixty-seven pounds. In the long run he was a lot more dangerous than Ma.

Before she left Simone said, ‘So Eva, you’ve got to keep quiet from now on. You mustn’t spend any money. You mustn’t tell anyone about it. You haven’t told Keif, have you? Well, don’t. Don’t tell anyone.’

She was right, wasn’t she? Andy mustn’t know about the money. And the same went for Droopy-drawers.

I was glad I bought all my new gear before she told me not to spend anything. I’d of been very cold that night without a nice thick sleeping bag.

But I dreamt Wozzisname was sharing the sleeping bag with me. He wasn’t upset about being dead but he had a deep dent in his head and he kept tickling me and nudging me with his elbows. Which made me really angry. I told him to fuck off and leave me alone but he said, ‘No way, girl, we married now.’ And his voice was Keif’s voice.

The strangest thing of all was that when Keif turned up the next day he blew in saying, ‘Hey, dream girl.’ And I wondered if it was possible that one person could know that another person had been dreaming about his voice. It spooked me, because his cousin was an obeah lady and you never know if them things are passed down in families like brown eyes or warts.

He said, ‘Brought a friend.’ And he opened the door again. I was afraid he’d brought Cousin Carmen, but it wasn’t Cousin Carmen, it was Milo.

‘Herf,’ said Milo, and I thought his voice was deeper. He jumped on the bunk and swiped my chin with his tongue. He wasn’t shivery no more.

‘Oi,’ I said, ‘you ain’t a lapdog.’

He swiped my chin again and sneezed.

Keif said, ‘You make me sad, man. You been drinking again.’

‘Ain’t,’ I said.

‘Milo knows you’re lying, man, and so do I. We both got a wicked sense of smell.’

‘Piss off to the rose garden then. Both of you.’

‘Might do,’ he said. ‘Your sister been here last night. I can smell her too.’

‘Keep your sodding nose out of my business,’ I said. I was so choked off with him I could of smeared his wicked sense of smell all over his face.

‘My nose and your business don’t like each other,’ he said. ‘C’mon, Milo. We ain’t welcome here.’

‘Wha’d’you mean “we”? Milo’s
my
dog. Not yours.’

‘You ain’t fit for a puppy dog. When you guttered you mistreat him. When you with your sister she make you guttered. She no damn good for you, man. She no damn good, full stop. Then you no good for Milo.’

‘Don’t you bad-chat my sister,’ I said. ‘Don’t you
ever
do that. You don’t know her. You don’t know
anything.’

‘I know you, man.’

‘You know
nothing.’

‘If you say so,’ he said. He walked out the door. And Milo followed him.

I was so stone choked I leapt out of the sleeping bag, off the bunk and out the door before I remembered my stiff back.

I caught them up before they reached the gate.

‘Oi you,’ I said. ‘You apologise. You better ‘pologise right now. What you said ‘bout my sister is pure shite.’

‘Shite ain’t pure,’ he said, still walking.

‘Fuck you,’ I said. ‘She’s my
sister
. She’s the only family I got left. You can’t talk bad about her and walk away. You can’t. She’s all I got.’

‘Where’s your shoes, girl?’

‘Wha’?’

‘You run round barefoot you’ll catch the flu again.’

Suddenly I felt cold and I looked round. All the men in the yard were staring and grinning. I hated myself for running after Keif. I stone hated myself for doing that.

I picked Milo up in my arms and went back to the Static. Milo had put on weight.

‘I knew a boy at school,’ Keif said, following me.

‘You still here?’ I said.

‘Rude boy,’ Keif said, ‘slack like you wouldn’t believe. But he wrote poems like Bob Marley, like Gil Scott-Heron. A DJ talk to him one time. He say, “Write me a song, man, we’ll take it to the studio.” But this boy, running around with other rude boys all the time, smokin’ bush, buyin’ rocks. So he say, “Yeah man, cool. Tomorrow.” But tomorrow never come, ‘cos tomorrow this kid is all fucked up and wigged out and he can’t string two words together.’

‘Was he your brother?’ I said.

‘No, he ain’t my brother. Just a kid at school I used to look up to. ‘Cos he had talent. I used to respect talent. But talent don’t mean shit by itself. In fact talent’s bad for you. It make you think you don’t need nothing else. And you do.’

‘I know that,’ I said. ‘I ain’t stupid.’

‘No? Then you worse than this kid I’m telling you about. You diss your talent
and
you diss your brains or what.’

‘But she’s my sister.’

‘OK, she your sister.’

‘Family’s important.’

‘Yeah.’

‘So,’ I said.

‘So?’ he said.

‘So, you want to go weight-training?’

‘No. You ain’t up for that.’

‘Running?’ I never thought I’d hear myself suggest running. Keif’s got a point – a drop of Scotch in your coffee addles your brain something chronic.

‘You ain’t up for running neither. I’ll do your back. Then we’ll
walk. But only if you put your shoes on. I don’t want to be seen walking with no hippy girl or what.’

So I lay down on my front, and after a while all I could smell was Cousin Carmen’s embrocation and all I could feel was deep heat.

Keif said, ‘You know what I’m saying or what?’

I said, ‘Yeah.’ Well, I didn’t say it, I just sort of groaned. And I thought, Eva, you’re getting addicted to this.

Keif said, ‘You got to do one thing.’

‘Wha’?’

‘Tell her. Tell your sister the juice is bad for you. See, mebbe she think athletes can drink sociable.’

‘They can.’

‘Listen to me. I’m giving you a way out. Couple of beers now and then – OK. Hard juice, out of your skull – not OK. It fucks up muscle tone, it fucks up co-ordination. Then you get hurt, man. Look at you now.’

He didn’t know nothing. What was wrong with me was all down to Wozzisname. And where was Keif at one in the morning when I needed a drop of something to dull the ache? Where was he then? It wasn’t him who kept me company in the night. It was Simone. She sat with me. And Wozzisname didn’t come visiting till after she’d gone. It was when I was alone that Wozzisname climbed in my sleeping bag and gave me bad dreams.

‘You tell her,’ Keif said, ‘tell her the juice fucks up your immune system. It’s why you got the flu, man. You listening or what?’

‘Course I was listening. What else could I do lying on my belly with him making putty of my lumbar region? What was I going to do? Tell him where he could stuff his sermon? You don’t say that to a bloke with good hands.

‘I hear you,’ I said.

‘Speak up,’ he said. ‘Where’s all the shouting gone? You going to shout for me tonight?’

‘Tonight?’

‘My fight, girl. You ain’t forgot that. You’re my fan club, right?’

‘I ain’t coming to that.’

‘Got to,’ Keif said. ‘You got to shout my name real loud. Lead the chorus or what. I want all the little girls shouting for Mohammed Wily, ‘cos he the greatest. Right? Make Pete Carver mad for sure.’

He didn’t understand. I can’t go to the wrestling. Not if I ain’t in it. I can’t shout his name. It’s supposed to be
me
. Everyone’s supposed to shout
my
name. Wrestling ain’t his. It’s mine. I ain’t given it to him. I want it for myself. He didn’t even want it that bad. I can’t go and watch him up there in the light, in the ring, ‘cos that’s where
I
should be.

He didn’t understand and he went drivelling on. He said, ‘Besides, my mum want to meet you. She say, “Who’s this little girl you seeing all the time, boy?” You got to explain about wrestling to my folks. My dad knows boxing but he don’t know wrestling.’

‘I can’t go,’ I said.

‘’Cos you barred?’

‘Na. ‘Cos

‘Mr Deeds can’t bar you out of the audience. He can bar you out of his shows, he can bar you out of the gym. But he can’t tell you what to do as a civilian. He got no rights to do that.’

‘But I ain’t a civilian. I ain’t no audience.’

‘Woh! Chill, girl,’ he said. ‘You gone all knotted. You do yourself a mischief. All my girls got to be soft.’

And that was the problem. That was it. I got it. Dunno why it took me so long. I ain’t soft. I’m hard. I ain’t nobody’s soft girl. I’m the London Lassassin – the one they call Bucket Nut. Keif was stealing my work, and he was stealing my name. He didn’t really want neither, and he was expecting me to lie down on my belly and be soft about it. Fuck that, man. Fuck that. He even wanted my pup.

I rolled over. I said, ‘Fuck that! I ain’t going. I ain’t audience. I’m the London Lassassin – I ain’t sitting in the dark.’

His face was still all smiley. He didn’t get it.

‘You don’t get it,’ I said. ‘I don’t go to the wrestling. I
am
the wrestling. I don’t watch. I fight.’

‘Oh man!’ he said. ‘Wouldn’t that be something? Wouldn’t that make them creepos mad or what?’

‘Wha’?’ He was stone bursting with himself. I took a deep breath and I would of blasted him into next month except Simone come in. I was really glad she didn’t see me with my shirt up round my neck and him with his hands.

She said, ‘Uh-oh, didn’t know you were busy with your boyfriend.’

So the blast came out ‘cos I couldn’t hold it back into my throat. They was all of them getting it wrong. ‘He
ain’t my boyfriend
,’ I said. ‘I ain’t no soft girl. I ain’t nobody’s dream whatsit. I got me
own
shit. I’m the London fucking Lassassin.’

‘Don’t you shout at me,’ Simone said. ‘If you want to shout at someone, shout at loverboy here. Shout at those two guys waiting for you outside.’

‘Never knew a girl so popular,’ said Keif.

‘What two guys?’ I said.

‘Herf?’ said Milo in his new deep voice.

‘Fucking shut up, all of you,’ I said, and I went out and slammed the door after me. I hoped it burst their eardrums.

Except I wasn’t wearing any shoes. I forgot them again. But I wasn’t going back for them. If you slam the door it’s got to stay slammed. You can’t slide back inside and say, ‘Oops, pardon me for breathing, but I need my sneakers.’

On the other hand, barefoot ain’t the way you want to meet Droopy-drawers and his fish-faced mate. Not when both of them had boots the size of canoes on their plates of meat. Only one thing to do – don’t give ’em time to notice.

‘Oi, you,’ I said. ‘Get away from my gate. I told you before.’

‘No, listen,’ said Droopy-drawers. ‘You listen. We found the car. No, listen, we found it but we didn’t find what we was supposed to find in the back.’

‘Why the fuck am I supposed to care?’ I said. ‘Fuck off.’

‘No. We ain’t going nowhere,’ he said.

‘I’ll get my dogs,’ I said.

‘If you walk away,’ said Fish-face through his little pouty lips, ‘I’ll fucking shoot you in the back. And I’ll shoot your dogs. I don’t care. I’m a dead man already.’

I didn’t have an answer ready for that one, so I stayed where I was. I couldn’t see no shooter, but I could see two big coats which could of hidden two cannons for all I knew.

Droopy-drawers said, ‘You gotta listen. You gotta talk to us.’ If you put the both of them in the one anorak they still wouldn’t fill it out. There was still plenty of room for a sawn-off.

I said, ‘Where would two droopy dildos like you get a shooter?’ Which was stupid. A bloke with a sawn-off ain’t a droopy dildo. He’s a bloke you stop and listen to. You might even want to call him ‘sir’.

The thing that made me uneasy was that they were more scared than me. They were sweating and shifting from foot to foot. They were twitching and looking over their shoulders.

‘You waiting for someone?’ I said.

‘I told you we was in trouble,’ Droopy-drawers said. ‘But you wouldn’t listen.’

‘Listen to what?’ I said. ‘You said you lost your car. I ain’t seen it. Now you lost something else. I don’t even know what you lost. And you’re going to shoot me in the back. What am I supposed to listen to? You call me a thief and a liar and I’m supposed to listen to that?’

‘It’s got to be you,’ Fish-face said. ‘There ain’t two like you. There can’t be.’

‘Two like who?’ I said. ‘What the hell’ve I done to you that makes you want to shoot me in the back?’

‘Look, we don’t
want
to shoot you,’ Droopy-drawers said.

‘I do,’ said Fish-face. ‘I don’t care any more.’