What Came Before He Shot Her (21 page)

He no longer knew where the knife was. He was unable to tell if Neal had it or if it had been knocked from his hands. He
did
know that this was a fight to the death, though, and so did the other boys, for they had fallen into a tense silence although not one of them had backed away from the brawl.

It was because of this silence that Joel heard a voice, a man calling out, “What’s going on here?” And then, “Get back. Step
out
of my way. You heard me, Greve Johnson. And you, Dashell Patricks. What are you boys doing?” And immediately after that, “For the love of God!,” which heralded Joel’s being jerked off Neal, hauled to his feet, and thrust to one side.

Joel saw it was Ivan Weatherall, of all people, his mentor from Holland Park School. Ivan said, “Is that a
knife
over there? Are you out of your minds? Is that yours, Joel Campbell?” and without waiting for a reply, he shouted at the rest of them to clear off.

Despite the fact that Ivan was one and they were many, he exuded such confidence that the boys obeyed, surprised and unused to being troubled when they were in the midst of one of their pursuits. This included Neal, who was nursing a cut lip. As his mates began to pull him from the site, he shouted, “Don’ you
fuck
with me,” an imperative obviously intended for Joel. “I’ll
have
you, arse wipe. Yellow-arse roadkill.

You and your bruddah. You eat your muddah’s pussy.”

At this, Joel made a move to go after Neal, but Ivan grabbed his arm. To Joel’s surprise, he said under his breath, “Fight me, boy. Fight to get away. Go on. Do it, for the love of God. I’ve got a grip . . .

Good. Right-o . . . Kick me as well . . . Yes, yes. Spot on, that . . . Now I’ll get you in a lovely half nelson”—with a quick movement that imprisoned Joel under his arm—“and we’ll make our way to this bench.

Keep fighting me, Joel . . . I’ll throw you down here . . . try not to hurt you . . . Ready? Here we go.”

Joel found himself on the bench as promised, and when he looked around, Neal and his crew had retreated to the spiral stairs, heading up to the Great Western Road. The skateboarders had also dispersed, and he was left with Ivan Weatherall. He couldn’t understand how the miracle had been effected.

“They think I’ve sorted you, which suffices for the moment,” Ivan said in explanation. “It appears I came along just in time. What on earth were you thinking, taking on Neal Wyatt?”

Joel said nothing in reply. He was breathing hard. He didn’t want to end up in Casualty again, so he thought it best not to waste effort on speech. Beyond that, he wanted to be away from Ivan. He needed to find Toby. He needed to get both of them safely home.

“It just happened, did it?” Ivan asked. “Well, that shouldn’t surprise me, and I suppose it doesn’t. Neal Wyatt has issues with most of the planet, I’m afraid, which is what comes from having a father in prison and a mother possessing a predilection for crack cocaine. There is, of course, a way out for what ails him, a cure if you will. But he won’t take it. More’s the pity because he’s actually quite talented at the piano.”

Joel started at this, surprised by this altered vision of Neal Wyatt.

Ivan nodded in understanding. “Shame, isn’t it?” He looked over his shoulder to the bridge, across which the boys had shuffl ed on their way to whatever next piece of trouble they had in mind. “Well, then, have you caught your breath? Are you ready to go?”

“’M okay.”

“Really? You don’t quite seem it, but I shall take you at your word. I recall you live somewhere nearby but not in Trellick Tower. I shall walk you home.”

“I don’t need—”

“Nonsense. Don’t be foolish. We all need something, and the first step on the path to maturity—not to mention peace of mind—is admitting that. Come along.” He smiled, showing his terrible teeth. “I shall not require you to hold my hand.”

He fetched a parcel from beneath the bench on which they’d been sitting. He tucked it under his arm and affably explained that it contained parts for a clock that he was assembling. He nodded towards Elkstone Road, a short distance away, and led Joel in its direction while beyond and around them Meanwhile Gardens continued to get back to normal.

Ivan chatted amiably, confining his conversation to clocks. Their assembly, he informed Joel, was his hobby and his passion. Did Joel recall the conversation they’d had about creative outlets on the day they’d met? No? Yes? Had he thought about what he wished to do so that his soul could earn its expression?

“Remember,” Ivan said, “we are like machines in this, Joel. Every part of us needs to be oiled and cared for if we are to function to our utmost capacity. So where are you in the decision-making process?

What is it you intend to do with your life? Beyond brawling with the Neal Wyatts of our world.”

Joel wasn’t sure that Ivan was serious. Instead of replying, he scanned the area for Toby and said, “I got to fetch my bruvver. He ran when Neal came.”

Ivan hesitated. “Ah yes. Of course. Your little brother. That does at least explain . . . Well. Never mind. Where might he have gone? I shall help you find him and then act as your escort home.”

Joel didn’t want this, but short of being rude, he didn’t know how to tell Ivan he felt best left alone. So he followed the pavement along Elkstone Road, Ivan tagging along, and he checked to see if Toby had run to their aunt’s house. Failing to find him there, he set off between the buildings, towards the duck pond, and there he discovered Toby crouched in the duck blind with his hands over his head.

He’d somehow punctured his life ring. It hung around his waist still, but it was now only partially inflated. He hadn’t lost the bag that Joel had thrust at him, though. It was at his side, and when Joel reached him through the reeds, he saw that the lava lamp had escaped damage.

He was thankful for this. At least Toby’s birthday would not be ruined.

He said, “Hey, Tobe. ’S okay now. Le’s go home. This here’s Ivan.

He wants to meet you.”

Toby looked up. He’d been crying, and his nose was dripping. He said to Joel, “I di’n’t wee in my pants. I have to go, but I di’n’t wee my pants, Joel.”

“Tha’s real good.” Joel lifted Toby to his feet. He said to Ivan, who remained above them on the path to the pond, “This’s Toby.”

“Delighted,” Ivan said. “And impressed with the wisdom of your apparel as well, Toby. Is that short for Tobias, by the way?”

Joel looked at his brother, dwelling on the word
apparel
. Then he realised Ivan was talking about the life ring in conjunction with the vicinity of water. The man thought they’d possessed forethought when it came to Toby’s safety.

“It’s jus’ Toby,” Joel informed Ivan. “I ’spect my mum and dad di’n’t know Toby was short for anything.”

They climbed the bank to join Ivan who, taking a long look at Toby, removed a white handkerchief from his pocket. Rather than see to Toby’s face on his own, though, he wordlessly handed the linen to Joel.

Joel nodded a thank-you and wiped down his brother. Toby kept his gaze fixed on Ivan, as if he were seeing a creature from another solar system.

When Toby was cleaned up, Ivan smiled. He said, “Shall we, then?”

and indicated the direction of the terrace houses. He said, “As I’ve learned from school, you young gentlemen live with your aunt. Would today be an appropriate time to make her acquaintance?”

“She’s off at the charity shop,” Joel said. “Up the Harrow Road.

Where she works.”

“The AIDS shop, is it?” Ivan asked. “Why, I’m quite familiar with that place. It’s noble work, she does. Ghastly disease.”

“M’uncle died of it,” Joel said. “Aunt Ken’s bruvver. My dad’s her older bruvver. Gavin. Her younger bruvver, he was Cary.”

“Quite a loss she’s experienced.”

“Her husband died, too. Her first, tha’ is. Her second husband’s . . .”

Joel realised he was saying too much. But he had felt compelled to share something, in gratitude for Ivan’s being there when he was needed and saying nothing about the oddity of Toby when they’d come upon him.

The fact that they’d reached his aunt’s house again allowed him to let the rest of what he’d almost told Ivan go unsaid, and Ivan didn’t comment upon this as Joel and Toby mounted the steps. Instead he said,

“Well, I should like to meet your aunt at a later date. Perhaps I’ll call in at the charity shop and introduce myself, with your permission of course.”

Joel thought fleetingly of Hibah’s words of warning about this man.

But nothing untoward had happened between them on any of the occasions when they’d met for their mentoring sessions. Ivan
felt
safe to be around, and Joel wanted to trust that feeling.

He said, “You can if you want.”

“Excellent,” Ivan said and extended his hand. Joel shook it and then prodded Toby to do the same.

Ivan reached into his jacket pocket and brought out a card, which he handed to Joel. He said, “This is where you can find me outside school hours. There’s my address. My phone number as well. I don’t have a mobile—I cannot abide those wretched things—but if you phone my home and I’m not there, an answer machine will take your message.”

Joel turned the card over in his hands. He couldn’t imagine why he would ever use it. He didn’t say as much but Ivan seemed to know what he was thinking.

He said, “You might want to tell me your plans and dreams. When you’re ready, that is.” He stepped away from the building and tipped his finger at Joel and then at Toby. “Until later, then, gentlemen,” he said and went on his way.

Joel watched him for a moment before he turned to the door and opened it for Toby. Ivan Weatherall, he decided, was the oddest man he’d ever met. He knew things about everyone—personal and otherwise—and yet he still seemed to take people as they came. Joel never felt a misfi t in his presence because Ivan never acted as if there was anything unusual in his mongrel features. Indeed, Ivan acted as if the whole world were made of people who’d been taken from a shaken bag of races, ethnicities, beliefs, and religions. How peculiar he was in the world where Joel lived.

Still, Joel ran his fingers over the embossed print on the face of the card. Thirty-two Sixth Avenue, he read, with a clock below Ivan Weatherall’s name. He said to the air what he’d so far kept to himself.

“Psychiatrist,” he whispered. “That’s what, Ivan.”

“So when I get home from work,” Kendra said, “I c’n see the boy’s been in a fight. But he i’n’t talking, is he, and neither is Toby. Not that I’d expect Toby to grass. Not on Joel of all people.” She removed her gaze from the soles of Cordie’s feet and studied the reflexology chart that lay on the kitchen table, next to which she and her friend were sitting. She moved her thumbs slightly to the left on Cordie’s right foot. She said, “How’s this? Wha’s it do for you?”

Cordie was playing willing guinea pig. She’d removed her wedge-soled shoes, had allowed her feet to be washed, patted dry, and rubbed with lotion, and had provided Kendra with a running commentary about the myriad effects that reflexology was having on the rest of her body.

She said, “Hmmm. Makes me think of chocolate cake, Ken.” She held up a finger, frowned, said, “Nah. Nah, dat ain’t it . . . Keep on . . .

Li’tle more . . . Oh yeah. I got it now. More like . . . handsome man kissing the back of my neck.”

Kendra slapped her lightly on the calf. “Get serious,” she said.

“This’s important, Cordie.”

“Hell, so’s a handsome man kissing the back of my neck. When we having ’nother girls’ night out? I want one of dem twenty-year-olds from the college dis time, Ken. Someone wiv big muscles in his thighs, y’unnerstan what I mean?”

“You been reading too many ladies’ sex magazines. Wha’s muscles in his thighs got to do wiv anyt’ing?”

“Give him strength to hold me like I want to be held. Up against the wall wiv my legs wrapped round him. Hmm. Dat’s what I want next, innit.”

“Like I almost b’lieve you, Cordie,” Kendra informed her. “You want dat, you know where to get it and you know who more ’n willing to give it to you. How’s dis now?” She applied new pressure.

Cordie sighed. “You bloody good, Ken.” She leaned back in the chair as well as she could, considering it was a kitchen chair. She lolled her head against the back of it and said to the ceiling, “How’d you know, den? ’Bout the fight.”

“Bruises on his face where someone hit him,” Kendra said. “I get home from work and find him in the bathroom trying to make it all disappear. I ask him what happened, and he say he fell on the steps of the skate bowl. Over the gardens.”

“Could’ve,” Cordie pointed out.

“Not wiv Toby afraid to leave his side. Somet’ing happened, Cordie.

I can’t sort it why he won’t tell me.”

“’Fraid of you, maybe?”

Kendra said, “I ’spect it’s more he’s ’fraid of causing me trouble. He sees Ness’s doin enough of dat.”

“An’ where is Miss Vanessa Campbell dese days?” Cordie asked sar-donically.

“In an’ out like always.” Kendra went on to explain her attempt to apologise to Ness for what had gone on between them. She hadn’t yet mentioned any of this to Cordie because she knew her friend would ask the logical question about the apology: the why question that she didn’t particularly want to answer. But in this instance and because of Joel’s fight, Kendra felt the need of a girlfriend’s counsel. So when Cordie asked her why the hell
she
was apologising to a girl who had disrupted life at 84 Edenham Way from the moment of her arrival, Kendra told her the truth: She’d run into the man who’d been with Ness in the car that night when Kendra had accosted the girl. He’d told an entirely different story from the one she’d assumed. He was . . . Kendra tried to come up with a way to explain that wouldn’t lead to Cordie’s questioning her further. She said at last that the man had been so sincere in what he’d told her that she knew at the level of her heart that he was telling the truth: Ness had been drunk at the Falcon pub, and he’d brought her home before trouble could befall her.

Cordie homed in on the detail she felt most salient. Kendra
ran into
him? How’d that come about? Who was he, anyway? What made him even bother to explain what had happened with Vanessa Campbell on the night in question?