My Name Is Leon (20 page)

35

Leon knows Sylvia won't wake up early, because she never does when she's been drinking so, as soon as he gets up, he looks through every single thing he's collected and all the things he has in his backpack.

He has nine pounds and forty-seven pence plus his granny's five-pound note, which he's saved for ages, a nail file, a writing pad and a pen, four Curly Wurlys but one is broken in the packet, a can opener, two small cans of baked beans that he can heat up, his Take-A-Chance seeds, his garden tools from Mr. Devlin, a comic, Sylvia's favorite brooch in case he has to sell it for money, a can of soda with a dent in it, the gun, a key ring in the shape of a gun, a green plastic gun, the head, an axe with a wobbly handle, a map of Bristol, a map of London, a bar of soap with a crack in it, baby dinners, the photograph of Jake with his address on the back, a mini packet of cornflakes and a mini packet of Rice Krispies, some coins that aren't English, a knife, the letter from Jake, his best Action Man wearing a beret, Big Red Bear, two
diapers and a pacifier, a tea towel from Sylvia's cupboard, and a baby's blanket.

When he puts everything inside his pack it's so full he can hardly zip up the top. He will never be able to carry it all at the same time. Maureen will ask him what's inside and he will have to pretend it's all toys. Then when he takes the pack back to her house he can hide some of the things under his bed. He's going to have to leave the things that he's stored in his shed but when Maureen brings him back to visit Sylvia again, he can see if his plants are growing and collect anything he leaves behind. Leon might have to wait to do his plan now that Maureen's back. He might not have to do it at all.

When he has made his breakfast, Sylvia shuffles into the kitchen. She puts the kettle on and pulls the belt on her dressing gown. She sits down at the kitchen table and puts her hands together. She has lots of folds on her face and the black makeup is now on her cheeks as well as her eyes. But her hair isn't high anymore.

“Listen, Leon, I'm sorry. I'm bloody sorry. What was I saying last night? Was I talking rubbish? Anyway, the point is, ­whatever's going on in my life, it's not fair to put it on you. It's not like you're having such a marvelous time, either.”

She gets her cigarettes out of her pocket and lights one. Leon starts to make her a cup of coffee.

“Mo will be here sometime today. I'm hoping she'll move in for a few days. Or even for good.”

Leon splashes himself with hot water and nearly drops the kettle.

“Careful, love!”

Sylvia is up quick as a flash and takes the kettle off him.

“You all right? Let me see.”

But Leon moves out of her way and sits back down.

“You're not hurt, are you?”

Leon shakes his head. Sylvia is ugly in the mornings and her old lady smell is very bad. She can make her own coffee. She's wrong about lots of things, so she is wrong about Maureen moving in. Like she said, she talks rubbish sometimes.

They have to wait for ages and ages before Maureen comes. He hears it first. He hears a car pull up outside and he runs to the door. Maureen is getting out of a black taxi. She has a suitcase with little wheels on it and Leon runs to get it.

Maureen opens her arms wide.

“Here he is!”

She grabs Leon and squeezes him hard and he squeezes her back.

“Stop it!” she whispers. “Stop growing so tall! You're going to be a giant and we won't get you through the door.”

She doesn't let him go.

“Oh, I've needed a good hug, I have. That's better than all the pills in the world.”

Then Sylvia comes and Leon has to move out of the way.

“Get the bag, Pete,” she says. “Come on, Mo, come on. Inside and sit yourself down. You shouldn't be pulling that suitcase.”

Sylvia bosses Leon around and makes a pot of tea. She's bought a round cake with sprinkles on top and jam in the middle. She puts it on a plate and cuts it into slices.

“Get you!” says Maureen and she winks at Leon. “Have you gone all fancy while I've been away?”

“This,” says Sylvia, “is your last piece of cake, Mo. You've got to promise me about your eating and drinking.”

“Me? Drinking?”

“Eating then, sugar, cakes. You know what I mean.”

“All right, all right, don't go on, Sylvia.”

Leon likes it when Maureen uses her no-nonsense voice with Sylvia. They are all quiet while they eat the cake. Then Maureen
gets up and cuts herself another slice and looks at Sylvia while she does it.

“Do you want a bit more, Pete?” Sylvia says.

“Who's Pete?” asks Maureen. “Why you calling him Pete all the time?”

“Oh, it's a joke. Crazy Rose started it.”

Maureen looks at Leon and raises an eyebrow.

“She's a bright spark, is Rose. Did she fall asleep midsentence like she usually does with her tongue hanging on her bosom?”

Maureen makes such a funny face that Leon begins to laugh and then Maureen and Sylvia join in. When nearly all the cake is gone, Leon asks if he can go out on his bike.

“I've heard a lot about this bike,” says Maureen. “Where do you go?”

“The park,” says Leon.

“What park?”

“The one with the railings.”

“All parks have railings, Leon. How do you get there?”

“Up the road.”

“Hmm,” says Maureen, “you can show me this park tomorrow. Bathroom first, wash your hands and face. You've got crumbs everywhere.”

Leon goes down the hall and opens the door to the bathroom but he doesn't go in. He stands quietly near the living room. Sylvia is talking.

“. . . good kid, all in all. No trouble at all. Got used to having him here.”

“Where's this park he keeps talking about?”

“Oh, it's up there on the main road. You pass it on the bus. He's all right, Mo. Look at the size of him. He can take care of himself. You should be worrying about yourself.”

“He's gone a bit quiet,” says Maureen.

“Kids are like that at his age.”

“He's going to be six foot and then some, that one,” Maureen says, “and good-looking.”

Leon smiles and feels the muscles at the top of his arms. Then Sylvia starts again.

“Listen, you and me have got to have a talk about the future, Mo.”

“Not again, Sylvia, for God's sake. I've just got here.”

“And you're staying here. You're moving in with me. It makes sense. I can keep my eye on you. Neither of us is getting any younger. You haven't got a guy, neither have I now. Two of us could halve our bills. I've got two bedrooms going spare. No stairs to climb. I've thought about it a lot and it's for your own good. You don't want to have another stroke, Mo. It's nearly finished me off. You're moving in with me.”

“Am I? You've decided, have you? That's nice. I've got no say, I suppose.”

“Then, well, we don't have to stop here. What's keeping us from moving? Nothing. Mo, what do you think about Hastings?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Sell it all. Pool what we get. How much do you think we'd get? We'd have enough for a two-bedroom cottage, that's for certain. The sea, Mo. You love the sea.”

“Hastings?”

“By the sea.”

“If only.”

“Why not? You love the sea, Mo.”

“It's been a good long while since we had a proper break, I know that much.”

“What's stopping us?”

“I can think of a few things.”

“Just give the idea a chance for a few minutes, Mo. Stop thinking of why not all the time.”

Sylvia's getting loud and Maureen doesn't say anything for ages and then when she does her voice is different, it's all soft like when she used to tell Jake a bedtime story.

“I do love the sea. I've always wanted a place by the sea. Walking on the beach. Them lights that they put around the pier. A little springer spaniel or something. I'd lose this weight, wouldn't I, with all that walking? I love that curve in the bay, great sweeping curve, like a giant smile. It's mild down there even in winter and you'd have the sea to look at. To listen to. What is it about the sea? What is it when you look out at the sea and feel calm? Hastings, though, it must have changed since we were there.”

“Just me and you, Mo,” says Sylvia.

“Or a Lakeland terrier. Or a . . . what was the dog the Turners had?”

“Bedlington.”

“Pedigrees are expensive though, Sylv. And Bedlingtons can be a bit bouncy as well. We could get a rescue dog. I'd rather have a little mutt. A little crossbreed, quiet, well behaved. If it was up to me, I'd have beams in the ceiling and a stable door at the back. I don't like cobbled streets, though, not with my ankles. I'd like it to be at the bottom of a little lane with hollyhocks on both sides. They're the tall ones, aren't they? Don't want much of a garden when you've got the sea and I've never been much good with plants. Local pub. Local fish-and-chips shop. Sound of the waves at bedtime.”

“Just you and me, Mo.”

Leon walks into the bathroom and flushes the toilet. He watches the water swirling around, turning blue and then settling in the bottom. He flushes it again and spits into the water, watching his saliva dissolve and disappear. He wipes his hands down his trousers and goes into his room.

Jake looks at him from his photo with his hand stretched
out, trying to pull his hair or take his truck or sit on his lap. Leon lies on his bed, closes his eyes, and puts his hands on his stomach in case he's going to be sick. He feels all his blood turning to clay, feels Sylvia's plans settle like an anchor on his chest, squeezing his throat into a narrow iron tube, filling his lungs with her sour perfume, her intimate odor. On his palms, he feels the squeeze of his mother's fingers, her secret messages, her physical decay, her distractions, her stained fingers, brown as rotten fruit. And, deep in his brain, he can hear something screaming and wailing, the new realization that Maureen is just like everyone else.

He picks up his backpack to feel how heavy it is. Yes, he will be able to carry it on his bike all the way to the allotment. Yes, he can put the heaviest things in the empty shed. Yes, he's good on his bike and strong. Yes. Castro won't have found his hiding place. Yes, he can do it. He can. So long as no one else finds his halfway house and steals his things while he's away. Yes.

When he goes back to the living room, they are still talking about the seaside and when Maureen sees him she takes his hand.

“Think I'll come with you for a little stroll up to the park,” she says.

“I'm not going now,” he replies and sits down in the armchair.

“Changed your mind?”

“Yes,” Leon says. “I've changed my mind. I want to stay at home with you.”

He smiles. Just like Maureen has a soft voice and Sylvia has three or four different voices, Leon can have a pretend voice as well.

Then the whispering begins. They go into the kitchen but he can hear because only his face is watching the TV; every other inch of him is standing between them in the kitchen, watching their lips. Maureen will have her arms folded.

“You didn't tell him then?”

“No,” says Sylvia.

“Good. Leave that up to me. I want to tell him before the social workers get to him. But I'll wait until the time's right.”

“How soon will it be official?”

“Any day now but you know how bloody slow they can be. Social Services do everything in their own sweet time as you know.”

“And it's for good?”

“Permanent, as far as I'm concerned. I'm stopping work apart from him.”

Then he can't hear because the kettle's boiling. They'll drink more cups of tea and coffee and eat cake and sandwiches and talk about people he doesn't know and the seaside all the time while they make their plans about him, while they make their plans without him. Then Sylvia starts talking about houses again and how many bedrooms they can afford. And Maureen is nodding. They keep saying it will be permanent and secure and Leon sees how fat Maureen is and how ugly Sylvia is and how they both want to get a dog instead of him.

Then all of a sudden they both scuttle into the living room and stand in front of the TV.

“Where's that?” says Maureen.

Leon wasn't paying attention so he doesn't speak.

“Hold on,” says Sylvia. “If it's a news flash it will be on ITV as well.”

Maureen changes the channel and the news flash is on the other one too.

“. . . area of high deprivation. Most recent reports tell of fires burning in streets and clashes between police and gangs of youths following the death in custody of a local man from the Union Road area. What began as a peaceful demonstration outside Springfield Road police station has escalated into running battles
between police and rioters with several police officers and civilians being taken to the hospital. Witnesses have reported looting and damage to several shops in the area and additional police officers are being sent in from forces throughout the region. We will keep you updated throughout the night.”

36

It smells like bonfire night. There's a feeling in the air like when something exciting is going to happen. Something exciting has already happened. Leon has done a brave thing. He's a burglar. He's James Bond. He's climbed out of his window so quietly that he couldn't believe it himself. It was difficult dragging the backpack out but he did it in the end.

He scuttles around the side of the bungalow and unchains his bike from the drainpipe by the back gate. He pushes it through the path that leads between the houses, crouching down beside it like it's moving all on its own. The pack is really heavy and it drags him down but as soon as he gets out on the street he can straighten up. He pushes hard up the hill away from Sylvia and Maureen. They won't notice for ages because they're watching the news on the TV. Even when they do notice, they won't care anyway.

He is sweating but he keeps going. His face feels funny and his lips feel swollen from crying. He thinks of Maureen going
into his room in the morning and how she will cry like when they lost Jake. She'll run and tell Sylvia and they'll start crying together because it will be too late. His throat hurts now and he has to drag his sleeve across his eyes to see where he's going. If anyone sees him they will think it's the smoke that's making him cry.

There are lots of people standing on street corners and someone shouts at him to stop but he pays no attention. He's never heard so many police sirens. It sounds like a film or a TV show and even though Leon wants to see where the fire is, he's got to be careful because he has a long, long way to go to get to Dovedale Road and then all the way back to his halfway house and then all the way to Bristol. Two hours the social worker said but that was in her car. He's got a map in his bag and, including the money he just took out of Maureen's purse, he's got more than twenty-three pounds.

Usually when he thinks about seeing Jake he feels happy. But for some reason he's crying and he wonders if Jake will remember him. Babies change a lot when they start to grow up. How will he know what Jake looks like and how will he get into the house where they are keeping him? At least he's got the nail file from Crazy Rose.

He looks behind him at how far he has come from Sylvia and Maureen. He will put the heaviest stuff in his shed at the allotment and then only take the most important things to Dovedale Road: some candy for himself, baby food for Jake, his money, his map, and the photograph.

When he's got Jake, if anyone stops him and says, “Where are you taking that baby?” Leon will show them the photograph to prove that it's his brother. When your brother is white it can be difficult to believe that you're related. He hopes Jake can walk on his own because, if not, Leon will have to carry him. He wonders if Jake will fit in the backpack. He's seen some of the African women carrying their babies on their backs, so it can be done. It
makes him feel better to think he has a backup plan if he can't steal a baby buggy or if Jake can't walk or if he's too heavy to carry in his arms or on his bike.

Finding Carol might be more difficult but he'll deal with that problem when it comes. If there's one thing he's certain of, it's that his mom wants to see Jake again. He imagines her face when he knocks on her door and holds Jake in front of him. She'll burst into tears and pick him up, hold him close to her chest, and say, “My baby, my baby,” and she'll probably crumple down like she did before but this time it will be out of happiness and Leon is strong enough to help her up all on his own. Every social worker he's ever had has told him that his mom loves her children but she just can't manage. Well, all that is going to change. Leon has learned a thing or two since he was nine. He's been shopping at a big supermarket with Sylvia, picked out the cheapest and best food, and put it in the cart. He's learned how much things cost and how to take them cleverly when you haven't got enough money.

Looking after Jake won't be a problem; it never was. Looking after Carol can be tricky and if he'd done a better job in the past, he wouldn't be in this position now, pedaling hard with a heavy bag all the way to the allotments when it's getting dark and when he's a bit scared. He was stupid to go and see Tina and ask her for some money. It was her fault that his mom went into the hospital and that was what started everything going wrong. That's a mistake he won't make again. Twenty-three pounds is a lot of money. It can last two people and a baby for weeks if they all stay together.

He gets off the bike at the entrance to the allotment. He expected the gate to be locked, that he'd have to wheel around and climb over the brick wall. He even brought his bike lock just in case but the gates are wide open and one of them is hanging off its hinges.

He goes slowly. He can hear voices, shouting and swearing.
He stops. Maureen might have noticed that he's left home and she might call the police. If she does, they will be looking for him and it might be better to just go back. The sound of the men swearing at each other makes him want to get back on the bike and climb back through Sylvia's window but if he isn't brave and if he turns back at the first sign of trouble he'll never get to Bristol. And anyway, as he gets closer he can hear it's Tufty and Mr. Devlin and they have always hated each other. It's just them arguing as usual. It doesn't mean anything bad's going to happen.

He has to make sure they don't see him. He can just make out their shapes, standing in front of Mr. Devlin's brick shed. Mr. Devlin's flashlight is pointing at the ground but Tufty's light dances everywhere, the beam making wild shapes in the air. Leon wheels his bike slowly along the far path behind Mr. and Mrs. Atwal's plot. As usual, Tufty is doing all the talking but Mr. Devlin seems to say just as much with fewer words.

“Is that so?” he says. “Show the government? Is that so?”

Tufty is shouting and Leon knows he will be pointing his finger, right up close to Mr. Devlin's face.

“That's what you do, isn't it? You and your IRA. It's a protest. Get it? A protest. Except we don't bomb people in their beds like you Irish people.”

“Oh, every Irishman is a terrorist, is that what you're saying?”

“You sit in your shed half-drunk, talking to yourself. You don't know what's going on in the world.”

“Is that so?”

“You think it's funny? Why you smiling? You think it's funny that the police kill black people?”

“Don't be so fucking—”

“What? Don't be so fucking what? You don't believe me? There's hundreds of people on the street tonight. You know why? The police killed a black man last night, someone I knew. Yeah, my friend. Castro, man. They took him to the police station
for some bullshit reason and kicked him to death. Castro, they killed him.”

“Listen—”

“Yeah, so don't laugh when you're talking to me. Don't laugh.”

“I am not fucking laughing.”

Leon can hear the drink in Mr. Devlin's voice. “I'm sorry about your friend,” he continues, “but that doesn't mean they should be running through here like this. Look at this place.”

Leon stands still. He can see now that the flower beds have been trampled. The water barrels have been pushed over and the lines between the plots aren't straight anymore.

“You ever been angry?” says Tufty. “I don't mean you run out of whiskey and the shops are shut. I mean down in your belly. You ever been angry in your balls?”

There is a long silence. Tufty and Mr. Devlin must be staring at each other, waiting for each other to blink. Leon stands still too because it is so quiet and he is so close that they might hear him. He hopes that whoever made the mess in the allotments hasn't been near his shed.

“Of course I've been angry.”

“Yeah? Anybody make you into a slave? Put you in chains?”

“Oh, for pity's sake,” says Mr. Devlin, “a history lesson now. Fix the gate with me, can't you? The gate. You're acting like a child.”

“Who you think you're talking to?”

“Well, don't make excuses for them then. They're savages.”

“Savages? You calling black people savages? You fucking—”

Leon hears the scuffle but can't see it. Both men are grunting and gasping, the flashlight beams skimming across Leon's chest like a laser. Leon wheels his bike slowly until he is level with Mr. Devlin's shed. He's about to move when he hears Mr. Devlin cry out as he lands on the ground.

“Yeah,” says Tufty. “I'd rather be savage than a pervert. You
think I ain't seen your pictures and your dolls? You think we ain't all seen what you got in there? All of us in this whole allotment. We all know about you.”

“You bastard!”

Mr. Devlin must have got up off the ground and charged at Tufty because all of a sudden both men slam into the wall of Mr. Devlin's shed. A flashlight drops to the ground. If Leon can get the light then he won't be so afraid to walk deeper into the allotment on his own. If he can get near the light, he will switch it off and hide with it until they have finished.

But they keep pushing and shoving each other and shouting.

“I seen you with that boy that comes in here. Making friends with him. Getting him to like you. You going to take his photo now? Is that it?”

“You shut your filthy mouth.”

“I seen you giving him things. Presents. I seen him go inside.”

“I've never—

“You got no wife. You got no children—”

“Wife?” screams Mr. Devlin. “My wife? How dare you?”

Leon stares into the darkness. He can see the shape of the two men standing like black scarecrows against the purple sky. He can hear them panting, feels the current between them that raises the hairs on his arm and fires the beats in his chest.

“Yeah,” continues Tufty, “you got no woman but you got pictures of little boys all over the place, eh? Pictures not enough now? Is that it? You want a piece of the real thing?”

“You've got a filthy mouth, you black bastard.”

The smack that Mr. Devlin gets doesn't stop him speaking.

“You're a dirty-minded fucker. I'll show you.”

Leon leans his bike against Mr. Devlin's shed, crouches down, runs for a few steps, then goes slowly toward them. He drops down onto his belly. He crawls forward on his elbows like he's seen in the war films. Feels around for the flashlight. He grips
something but it's soft and squishy. He gasps and pulls his hand back, wipes it on the grass. He feels around on the ground but can't find anything. He hunches down behind the water barrel. Suddenly, Mr. Devlin dashes into his shed.

“Come in here!” he shouts. “Come on! I dare you! I'll shut your mouth for you. Come on. Bring your filthy mind with you.”

Tufty stands at the door of the shed. He shines the light full on and Leon can see clearly now. He can see Mr. Devlin through the window acting like he's gone mad. All his nice things are falling off the shelf and smashing onto the ground. He is staggering and bawling. Tufty takes a step back.

“You're crazy, man. I ain't got time for this.”

“No, no, no. Not crazy. I'm a pervert. That's what you said. A pervert. I'll show you. Come on, come and see the monster.”

Mr. Devlin begins throwing things down. Leon knows what he's looking for. He has it in his backpack.

“Where is he? Gabriel! Where is he? Where's he gone?”

Leon can hear all Mr. Devlin's favorite things breaking on the floor of his shed and him breaking as well.

“My baby, my son, where are you?”

“Fucking hell, man. Calm down,” says Tufty. He steps into the shed and, as soon as he's gone, Leon runs. He can't see where he's going but he runs. He runs with the pack banging against his back, with the baby's wooden head inside, bouncing up and down. He falls and falls, and by the time he gets to the shed his back is wet with sweat.

It's dark in his halfway house.
The air is too hot and too sticky to fit down Leon's throat. He throws the backpack on the floor and drops to his knees. He pulls his T-shirt up over his head. It's as sticky as tape on his skin. His scalp is itching, his back is itching, his feet in his sneakers are burning and damp, his chest
is thumping so hard it might break open, his heart will jump out and he will be dead and then Maureen will look for him and be sorry and his mom will cry because she never loved him as much as she loved Jake and when he has a funeral everybody will say they are sorry for not being nice to him and he won't care because he will be dead.

He looks out of the dirty window toward Mr. Devlin's shed. His shouting is almost drowned by the sirens but Leon can still hear him and Leon wonders what Tufty is doing, if he's still trying to calm him down or if they are arguing or maybe Tufty has gone home. Something scuttles at his feet. A scratch. Leon notices how dark the shed is. Creatures and spiders might live in here, rats, black moths, mice, animals, people, ghosts. A rasp of wind hisses on the broken glass. Anyone could be in the shed with him and he wouldn't be able to see. They could grab him and attack him like in his nightmares. Kill him. Eat him. Tear him apart. Leon bursts back out of the shed and the door bangs shut behind him. Twice.

Everything goes quiet. Mr. Devlin and Tufty have suddenly gone quiet. They must have heard the door bang. If there is a monster in the shed, it's stopped moving. His money, his pack, his T-shirt, his address on Dovedale Road, he left them all inside with whatever made the scratching noise. Leon remembers when his dad was crying after the funeral, the look on his face. “I got no one, I got no one. I got no one.” Leon feels sorry for his dad. He thought his dad was being a girl, crying and leaving the tears on his face for people to see. If only it was his dad making the noise in the shed. They could go and get Jake together. But his dad didn't like Jake even before he was born and if he wasn't always in prison then his mom wouldn't have decided to love Jake's dad instead and she wouldn't have had Jake and he wouldn't have said horrible things to her and made her cry and then everything would be like it was.