White Lady (14 page)

“What do I mean? What I mean is your little fuck buddy did this, that’s what I mean.”

I glare at her. “What?”

No. Way. Mick can be a dick sometimes, but I know he wouldn’t do something like this. Why would he?

“Yeah. He’s the one. Mick’s the one I want you to fuck up.”

Chapter 35

Mick: Can’t avoid that fuckin’ stain no more.

I wouldn’t normally sit ’ere. On the creaky back porch. So close to the stain. But I need to get me shit together. I can’t be feelin’ all these pussy shit feelin’s over a fuckin’ stain, when I need to figure out a way to sell these fuckin’ knives. I should just tell me mum what’s goin’ down. She’d be able to help me sort it out. I know that. But she’s been tryin’ so damn fuckin’ hard to be normal. I don’t wanna set ’er back. She deserves to have a normal life.

She deserves to be free.

I light a smoke. Stare at the half-filled hole in the grass where me toy truck was dug up. It reminds me of me fucked-up dad. He used to drag me along the driveway on that truck. He dragged me ’cause the wheels were clogged with dirt, ’cause I’d always be riding through the fuckin’ mud ’n’ pretendin’ I was on an army tank bein’ shot at in Afghanistan. The wheels stopped turnin’. The scrapin’ sound of plastic on the concrete meant I was in for it. That scrapin’ sound has echoed in me ears for fuckin’ years. Once, me dad pulled too fast and hard, and I toppled over, grazing me hands ’n’ knees.

He screamed ’n’ yelled ’n’ kicked me ’n’ shit.

I cried.

It was the last time I ever cried in front of me dad. ’Cause whenever I cried, me mum would get a beat’n, accused of bringin’ up a “pussy-shit,” and then forced her to handle the next job “solo” as a “plea for salvation.”

“Prove to me that you’re devoted,” he would say. “And then I’ll keep my hands clear of your face. Is it a deal, Ebedi öpücük?”

That last job put me mum in lockup. Shut in a cell for three fuckin’ weeks. Me alone with Dad. In this house. Thank fuckin’ Christ he was hardly ever home. But Mum coulda been put away for twenny fuckin’ years. But the cops offered her a deal. She took it. They tapped her phone, ’n’ hid cameras in the house.

There was never a next job.

Dad found out.

Beat Mum to a pulp, put her in hospital with ten broken bones, and then he fucked off. To I-don’t-give-a-fuck where.

She almost died.

Me
mum
almost died.

That was four years ago. I promised meself I wouldn’t let meself love her no more. So that the next time she got hurt, I just wouldn’t give a shit.

But ya know, some-fuckin’-times, no matter how thick ’n’ tall you build the fuckin’ wall, it doesn’t help jack shit. Because when Dad had someone follow me to school a month ago, to tell me he was back, and that if I didn’t do what he asked he would kill Mum, that wall didn’t stop me from agreein’, did it?

I didn’t even ask why.

I was shittin’ bricks. What else was I s’posed to do? Ask for a reason? I’d have me head fuckin’ kicked in. “You don’t say no to Ibrahim.” I’ve heard me mum say it a million times.

You don’t ask Dad questions. You just take his orders.

But it’s gotta end.

It’s time to fuck the cunt up. I’ve already proven I can pull the wool over the cops’ eyes by doing stupid jobs here ’n’ there for ’im. And if I can fool the law, there’s no fuckin’ reason why I can’t fool Dad too. And whaddav I got to lose anyway? It’s not like we’re gonna be free of this lifestyle by just askin’.

Once you’re in it, you’re in it until you kill or be killed.

I take another drag of me smoke, drop it on the ground, ’n’ scrape it into the grass with me heel.

The fly wire squeaks behind me, ’n’ footsteps vibrate the porch.

Mum rests her hand on me shoulder. I lean me head against it and close me eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. I am. I mean it. I’m sorry for everythin’. Even the stuff I can’t control.

Mum kneels down ’n’ sits next to me. Her feet dangle a bit above the ground. Mine don’t. I can feel her smile. Somethin’ always tingles in me chest when she does.

“I know,” Mum says. “So am I. I know I wasn’t much of a mother to you.” Mum rests her hands in her lap ’n’ squints at the shed. “But I’m really trying now.”

I shrug. “I haven’t been much of a son.”

We both stare at the shed in silence. That fuckin’ shed. Me dad’s playhouse. I can’t figure out how me mum can stomach goin’ in there. I was never told what went down in that shed in the middle of so many fuckin’ nights. But I had an idea. Especially the night of the bloodstain on the porch. I had just turned ten, ’n’ Mum came in to tuck me in. She smelled of soap. She’d cleaned herself up. But she’d missed a smear of blood on her neck. And I knew, somehow, that it wasn’t hers.

“You sure you’re okay with Mia coming over?” Mum clicks her tongue, pushing her shoulder into me shoulder ’n’ nudging me sideways.

“Yeah. Should be good.” I smile and nod. I haven’t seen Mia in a week. She ditched me that day I kissed ’er. Maybe I scared ’er off. But I don’t understand how I coulda.

I thought she liked me.

It looked like she liked me.

I guess I’ll find out when they get here.

My stomach goes all fucked up.

I think I’m nervous.

I think … I love ’er.

Chapter 36

Mia: I’m done.

Dad and I stare at Sonia’s front door. We’re here for dinner. I’ve been avoiding Mick the entire week, and I’m shitting myself about seeing him again. I really like him. But after what Kimi said, I feel like I should hang low for a bit. At least until I figure out if it’s true. What if they were, you know, together, and he cracked it over her splitting up with him or something? That shit is scary.

But right now I have a bigger problem. He’s gonna see me. In like, one minute. Is he gonna be pissed with me? Just because he kissed me doesn’t mean I need to see him all the time, right? I could act normal. Like I didn’t realize it’d been so long. Is that lame?

I glance at Dad. I’m a bit sluggish and uneasy from another comedown off the pills. Dad’s constantly swallowing and adjusting his collar. We’re a good pair. I internally giggle.

“What are you all worked up about?” I say. I can’t help myself. When it comes to Dad, all the snide remarks I bottle up each day squirt from my lips like I’m spitting up milk. I immediately apologize. But it turns out he didn’t even hear me.

Dad clears his throat and straightens his back, turns his head to face me.

“Huh? What?”

I scrunch up my nose. “You look nervous.”

“Nah.” He shakes his head as if to convince himself. “I’m not.”

“Then ring the doorbell?”

“Hmm? Oh.”

Dad presses the doorbell and shakes his arms. It rings the tune of
Somewhere over the Rainbow
. I smile as I remember the story she told us in class about how she got into maths. Dad rubs his temples.

So weird.

Mick answers the door. Shit. He’s dressed in a nice black shirt and smells like that fresh aftershave stuff. Mick smiles at me quickly, then shakes Dad’s hand. He glances at me again, for a tenth of a second, before he clears his throat and swings the door wide open for us to enter.

What is it with men and throat-clearing?

For a moment I forget that Kimi asked me to pretend I don’t know what Mick did. For a moment I forget whether it’s worth the risk asking Mick if it’s true. What if Kimi is totally bullshitting me? Mick must already be so pissed that I stood him up last Friday after school. But what was I supposed to do? Kimi plunked me at a crossroads.

Mick leads us to the kitchen, where Sonia is decked out in a bright-yellow apron, already serving her traditional Turkish specialties on the table. Anise and bay leaves overwhelm my senses.

Sonia rests what seems to be the last dish on the table, wipes her hands on her apron, and flings her arms in the air like a typical Turkish mama.

“Guys! Just in time.”

I’ve never seen her so “domestic” before. Is it all an act for Dad? What’s going on? Both Dad and Sonia are acting really weird. Maybe they had a fight or something.

Sonia kisses Dad and me on each cheek and gestures for Mick to pull out a chair for each of us. He obliges, makes a wonky smile, and clears his throat. Again. For real?

Nobody speaks.

We all just sit. And dig into the food. No one looks up from their plates except for me, when I ask Dad to pass the Baba Ghanoush. The swish of saliva in everybody’s mouths echoes through the kitchen. The tension is hanging in the air like my own flab—thick.

“Nice food, Sonia,” I say, to try to break the ice. “Thanks for having us.”

Sonia lifts her head with a really fake smile and rests her knife and fork on the side of her plate.

“Thank you, Mia. Please, eat as much as you can, there’s—”

Dad frowns at Sonia. She frowns back in question until it seems to dawn on her what he means. I can’t believe this. He’s doing it again. Why can’t he just leave my weight alone? How
dare
Dad make an issue about it
here
?

Sonia’s bottom lip trembles slightly, but she stops it by forcing an even tighter smile than before. Mick doesn’t look up at all. He just keeps chewing, facing his plate. But then he reaches under the table and squeezes my knee.

“Thanks, but I’m full,” I say, and pull my knee away from Mick’s hand. My stomach sinks. I push my chair backwards and stand up. “Excuse me.”

I gotta get out of this room before I cry in front of everyone.

I can hear everyone’s breath stop as I walk out.

Once I get into the hallway, the tears surface. I try to hold them in, but it’s not going to happen this time. This whole thing with Mick and Kimi has sucked all the grit from my soul. I wanted friends and I got morons. Serves me right. I guess I’m a moron too. I probably deserve them. I probably deserve being this fat too. Payback for all the shit I put on people at school when I was skinny and cool and good-looking, and thought I could get away with everything and anything. I tell you, being fat is a real eye-opener. You really discover who your friends are. And in my case, that’s nobody. But that’s my fault. Back then, I didn’t want friends. I wanted people to fear me. And that’s what I got, I guess. At least I can say I got what I wanted. But be careful what you wish for and all that, right?

I go to the bathroom to get some space. From Dad, from Mick, from myself. I pull my last two pills from my pocket and sit on the edge of the bathtub. I push the two pills around in my palm, whispering, “round and round the garden, like a teddy bear, one step, two steps, tickle under there.” I close my fist around the pills and stand up.

Fuck this. Fuck these stupid drugs. And my stupid self-hatred.

It’s bad news, man.

It’s time to stick up for myself—to
look after
myself. No more bullshit. No more easy way out of anything anymore. The only way out of a sewer is to swim through the shit, right? And who gives a toss if my mum sees me like this? If she wants to inflict her fitness torment on me, I will just say no. If she makes my life a living hell for saying no, I will just leave. I’m old enough. I’ve got skills. I’m not an idiot. I would cope.

And all Mum has got to look forwards to nowadays is the knife. She doesn’t even need it. She makes herself out to be tough, but she’s not. She’s weak. And she’s totally fucked up her life by making stupid decisions. Fuck that. At least I’m still young. And I have plenty of time to make sure I don’t become as shallow as her.

Sometimes I think my mother’s actions are uglier than my own reflection.

I hold my fist over the toilet bowl and squeeze my eyes shut. I drop the pills into it, flush the toilet, take a deep breath.

I’m gonna have some of that awesome baklava Sonia made without feeling guilty. I deserve it. And I should allow myself to eat the forbidden fruit once in a while. Especially if I am a guest in someone’s house.

That’s
my
call. No one else’s.

I open the bathroom door, and Mick is leaning his back against the corridor wall opposite me, hands in his pockets. I freeze.

“Where’ve ya been all week?” Mick steps closer and tries to take my hand. I pull it away. I don’t know if that’s a good call. I actually want him to take my hand. Why am I letting Kimi’s shit get in the way of that? Why can’t I bring myself to just ask him straight?

Mick props himself against the wall with both hands, locking me between his arms, his baklava breath on my face.

I blink and look towards the front door without moving my head. “I … I had homework.”

“Homework?” Mick smiles.

“Uh-huh.”

“That’s bullshit.”

We stare at each other in silence. Yup, he’s pissed at me. Is he going to fuck me up now too? My heart beats a little faster than usual. I’m not sure if I’m scared or if this is getting me excited.

But then he surprises me.

He steps back and lets me move.

I take the opportunity to slip out of this awkward situation. I’m pretty sure if I stayed to talk to him about it, we’d both end up saying stupid shit that didn’t even make sense, to try to protect ourselves from seeming guilty.

“I’m gonna get dessert,” I say. I can feel Mick’s stare as I walk towards the kitchen. But just as I reach out to push the kitchen door open, Mick says my name as if he might choke on it.

I pause without turning around.

“Ya wanna see me room?” Mick says quietly and sniffs.

I turn around to face him and smile, tight-lipped. “Why?”

“Why are you so scared of me all of a sudden?”

“I’m not.”

“Whaddav I done? Jus’ tell me what I done.”

I shrug. “Nothing.”

Mick twists his mouth and puts his hands in his pockets. He hangs his head, and mumbles something I think sounds like “fucking cunt.”

“What did you just call me?” Typical. And I was really beginning to think he had a heart hidden in there somewhere.

“I didn’t call you anything.”

“Sounded like it.”

“Wasn’t ’bout you.”

Yeah, right. I nod and bite the inside of my cheek.

“Can ya jus’ come into me room for a minute? I jus’ wanna talk to ya.”