Authors: Beverley Naidoo
The words hit Femi like a couple of stones in the middle of his temple. For a split second he was dazed. By the time he looked up, he caught only a glimpse of the faces turned back to him inside the car. White masks distorted with ugly laughter. Their filth was directed at Gary—but only because Gary was with him. Grown white men shouting at a white boy for walking home with a black boy.
Femi swore as the car disappeared down the High Street. It felt as if thousands of angry butterflies were suddenly beating their wings inside him. He glanced at Gary. If his friend was embarrassed, he didn’t show it.
“Best to ignore people like that.” Gary shrugged. “My mum says they’re cowards. Like hit-and-run drivers.”
How could Gary remain so calm? How did he stop the foul words from getting under his skin? You couldn’t ignore a hit-and-run driver when you were hit! Femi fell
silent, as if an invisible screen had suddenly fallen between them. They were approaching the bicycle shop where they usually went their different ways—Gary down the High Street and Femi into the road leading to their block of flats. Femi stopped abruptly.
“Just remembered…I left my book for Ms. Hassan’s homework. She’ll kill me if I don’t do it! I’m going back. Better than getting one of her detentions and missing football practice, innit?”
“Why don’t you get to school early tomorrow—and do it then?” Gary’s forehead wrinkled in surprise.
“It’s okay. See you tomorrow.”
Femi turned and belted away before there was any time for Gary to offer to accompany him.
As soon as the garage came into sight, he regretted coming. He shouldn’t have let those racists unsettle him so much. One sudden urge to be with James, and here he was rushing into Errol’s den. James mightn’t even be here. Was he crazy? What was he going to tell Errol about Sade and how she had stormed at him? He halted on the forecourt, bending over to catch his breath. He could backtrack before he was seen. But it was too late. Errol had emerged from behind the wooden panel. From behind his dark glasses, he appeared to be looking past Femi at the road. He dared not turn around now. Errol had surely seen him and would take it as a snub. The butterflies trapped inside him began agitating their wings even more fiercely. Then Errol nodded to Femi, spun on his heels, and disappeared behind the wooden screen. He would have to follow.
“Hey, little brother!”
Femi was relieved to hear James’s voice as his eyes adjusted to the fog. James was sitting on a box next to a young man Femi hadn’t seen before. Both of them were smoking. Errol remained standing. Femi hesitated in the doorway, feeling the tension in Errol. He was like a cheetah waiting to spring.
“What’s the deal, little brother?” James drawled. “You looking for me?”
“Y-yeah,” Femi stuttered. How did James know?
“I’m a mind reader, Femi boy!” James laughed. “Take a seat.” Whatever was bothering Errol, James was not letting it get to him. An armchair with only one armrest was free, but Femi assumed that was Errol’s seat. He sat down uneasily on a wooden box opposite James. Errol let out a string of curses. Femi would have jumped up again if James hadn’t put out his hand.
“No need to vex yourself. Errol is waiting for some friends. Here, take a puff. Looks like you need something to calm your nerves, right?”
James held out the little white roll of paper. The smell prickled his nose, and Femi rubbed the back of his hand quickly across his face. He had heard of people spluttering and coughing and making fools of themselves over their first smoke. He felt James’s eyes on him, watching, waiting. But it wasn’t a trick. James was only offering him what he had been smoking.
Femi stretched out his hand and secured the little roll-up between his forefinger and thumb. He raised it to his lips. One short, quick suck. Something was invading his
mouth, throat, blocking his nasal passages. He was silently gasping, as if trapped inside a tight, narrow tunnel, desperate for fresh air. Then, just as it became unbearable, it felt as if his head was pushing through into a larger cavern. He breathed out and gulped in new air. His head felt light. He sucked again. Once again, that feeling of being trapped, then released into a haze. The butterflies that had been snared inside him began to flutter away.
“So, what’s the story?”
James’s voice seemed to come to him from a distance. He wondered whether James had repeated the question in order to reach him. James and the young man beside him were grinning. Only Errol remained unsmiling, hovering near the door, constantly looking out. But that no longer seemed to matter so much. Femi had come to look for James, and here he was.
“I was walking down the road, with my friend, right.” Femi hoped that he wasn’t mumbling. He found it easier to focus on the empty armchair than on James’s face. “A load of white men shouted this racist stuff—from their old banger.”
“Where’ve you been, little brother? Black people get this rubbish every day!” James was challenging him but wasn’t unfriendly. “That’s why we—”
“They were grown-ups!” Femi interrupted. “They shouted at Gary—’cause he’s white and he was with me.”
“So what did your friend Gary do?”
“Nothing. Said just to ignore them.”
“Oh yeah? He would, wouldn’t he?” James said a little
sharply. Femi wondered what he meant. He was finding it hard to concentrate. He was about to ask James when his eyes diverted him, glimpsing something underneath the armchair. It looked like a half-opened gold-paper packet—exactly like the present that Errol had told him to give to Sade. Hadn’t she thrown it into her rubbish bin at home yesterday evening? How could it have got back here? Femi blinked and leaned forward to see through the haze. Or was he imagining things?
James followed his gaze.
“Your sister is a female lion, right! Her temper is hot, man!” James said jokingly and pretended to snarl.
Without warning, Errol veered around. He grabbed James by the front of his jacket. James hurriedly pushed himself back on his seat. His hands shot up, palms forward.
“No offense! No offense, Errol! It’s a compliment! A lioness is like a queen, man!”
“Yeah, but I don’t like the way you said it!” Errol released his grip as if dropping something he no longer wanted. He swung back to the door and strode out.
The sudden tension had roused Femi. He stared at his watch.
“I’m late!” He stood up but avoided looking at James. There was no way he could ask him now what he had meant by saying Sade was like a female lion. He just hoped that he could slip out to the back alley that led to the flats without Errol stopping him. Errol was scary enough even when he wasn’t angry.
Femi did not need to worry. As he stepped from
behind the wooden screen, a sunflower-yellow BMW with a black top swerved on to the forecourt. The windows had shaded glass, making it impossible to see inside. But when the back door flew open, Femi glimpsed that both front seats were occupied. Instead of his usual slow swagger, Errol swooped toward the car and propelled himself into the back. The door slammed and the BMW revved away into the High Street.
Femi whistled under his breath. It was the four-seater version of the silver BMW on the billboard opposite Avon High. A million times smarter than the dirty banger belonging to those racists. A car like that would make them dead jealous. If he had been waiting for friends to arrive in a car like that, he might also have been tense like Errol! As Femi sprinted home, it was an effort to clear his mind and think what excuse he would give for being late.
T
UESDAY
30
TH
S
EPTEMBER
3
A.M
.
I can’t get back to sleep. My nightmare is back. I was hoping it had gone forever. It started like the old one but then I realized it was London, not Lagos….
I am packing my bag for school when I hear the gunshots. Mama screams. A car skids away. I drop my bag, spilling my books, pen, and pencil onto the floor. I rush to the veranda. Femi is wooden like a statue. Papa is kneeling on the ground. Mama lies against him with one leg stretched out
in front of her. A scarlet monster is growing all over her. Papa’s hands try to stop it. But it has already spread down her white nurse’s uniform. Suddenly I realize that this isn’t the driveway of our house in Lagos. There are no palm trees outside the gate. I am standing on the balcony of our block of flats, in London, and Mama is lying on the pavement below. I can hear a car revving and skidding—like it’s driving around the block, circling us. Suddenly Femi and I are in the back of Papa’s cab. Papa is chasing the gunmen’s car. We follow it on to the High Street. I am screaming at Papa to be careful. Someone in dark glasses is watching us through the back window of the gunmen’s car! The closer we get, the more I scream. I know it is Lizard Eyes.
That’s when I woke up. I must really have screamed because I woke Femi up. He came to my room, still half asleep, to see what was wrong. I told him we had been chasing a car driven by the gunmen who killed Mama and that Lizard Eyes was with them. When I mentioned Lizard Eyes, it was like I’d pressed a pop-up button.
F
EMI
(wide awake): Where was it?
M
E
: Outside here!
F
EMI
(big frown): What kind of car?
M
E
: I don’t know. Posh.
F
EMI
: What color, Sade? What color?
M
E
: White.
F
EMI
(relaxing suddenly): Don’t worry. It’s all right.
M
E
: There’s nothing all right about it! It was horrible!
F
EMI
: It’s only a nightmare, Sade. I’m going back to bed.
I don’t know what to do, Iyawo. When I try to imagine what Mama would say, she would want me to tell Papa my suspicions. But everything is so different here. That’s why I thought maybe I could sort things out with James. He is definitely the go-between, but I was a fool to think he’d ever listen to me. Mariam was right. It was a crazy idea. I know that Papa can’t keep Femi locked up. My little brother has to learn to look after himself. But if I tell Papa, he will overreact, and everything will get worse. It was only Mama who knew how to turn Femi around.
James pulled Femi aside into the corner of the landing so other students could pass. Femi glimpsed Gary continuing up the stairs with the crowd. Perhaps he would wait on the next landing, which was quieter.
“Errol’s mum is away for the weekend, right. He’s having a rave Saturday night. He wants everyone to come! You too, yeah.” James flicked his forefingers like twin gun barrels at Femi and grinned. It was only a couple of days since Femi had witnessed Errol threaten James. A passing storm, probably. But why would Errol want a kid like him to come to a party? Surprise and doubt must have been written in his eyes. James brought his right forefinger closer to Femi’s face.
“E-V-E-R-Y-B-O-D-Y! You get it?”
His finger wagged with the beat.
“My dad will never let me out at night.”
“Oh yeah! I forgot about your dad!” James pointed his forefinger toward his own head and made a mock pistol blast. “Well, you come Saturday afternoon—help Errol sort out the place, little brother. Meet at the usual time, usual place.”
James had turned away and was jogging down the stairs before Femi could reply.
“What was that about?” Gary asked when Femi joined him.
“He fancies my sister,” Femi lied.
Gary snorted.
“Does she fancy him?”
“Nuh, she’s not interested. She says boys are only after one thing!” They both giggled.
After supper, as Papa reached for the door handle, ready for his evening shift in the cab, Femi pretended that he had suddenly remembered something.
“Oh Papa—I’ve got football practice on Saturday—at school—after swimming.” He had heard Papa talking about an appointment he had in Docklands on Saturday afternoon. That meant there would be no risk of him dropping in to see the practice.
“You’re going to get into that team one of these days!” Papa’s face lit up. “But I want you home by five at the latest.”
“Thank you, Papa. I will,” Femi said automatically. He was counting on luck. He didn’t even know yet where Errol lived. But Sade was going with Papa to Docklands—and the chances were that they wouldn’t be
back until at least six.
“You will get into the team—or be back by five?” Sade asked bluntly.
“Both!” declared Femi. He smirked at her.
F
RIDAY
3
RD
O
CTOBER
9
P.M
.
I’m excited, Iyawo. Papa is taking me tomorrow to meet a friend of Mama’s. She’s a journalist who has just come back from West Africa. Papa says she’ll have the latest “inside” information. Her name is Hannah Greenwood, and she worked in Nigeria after Mama and Papa were just married. I was only three when she left, but I remember a photo in one of our albums back home of Mama with a white woman who is wearing a Nigerian wrap. She has short red hair like a boy’s and is laughing at the baby on Mama’s lap. Me! I wish I could study that photo now. Oh, Iyawo, I wonder if we’ll
ever
get to look at our albums again?
I hope she won’t be embarrassed to talk about Mama. Apart from our family, she is the only person here in England who knew her! Sometimes I feel ashamed when a whole day passes and I haven’t thought of Mama. When we first came here, her voice was in my head all the time. Like she was advising me, taking care of me. Our coun
selor, Mimi, said it was my way of holding her close to me. She said Femi should let himself hear Mama’s voice too. But maybe it was too painful for him. He used to look blank or turn away when I asked him if he remembered things Mama said. I was beginning to get worried that I could forget as well—until Papa brought Mrs. Wallace home! He hasn’t brought her again since then, thank goodness. I can’t wait to meet Mama’s friend. Papa says I used to call her Auntie Hannah. I’m going to ask her to tell me everything she remembers.