Home Girl. Alex Wheatle
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Table of Contents
___________________
Chapter Three: Bathroom Issues
Chapter Five: A New Collection
Chapter Seven: Tony’s Violin Story
Chapter Ten: The Shark in Louise's Knickers
Chapter Eleven: Shortbread and Shortcomings
Chapter Twelve: A French Master Class
Chapter Thirteen: The Corner Shop Scam
Chapter Fourteen: Mutton and Milton
Chapter Fifteen: Racially Correct
Chapter Sixteen: Biggin Spires
Chapter Seventeen: A Heavy Piece of Guilt
Chapter Eighteen: Casino Ashburton
I would like to dedicate this book to all children in care, care leavers, and those who may have found shelter, a place to rest their head but not necessarily a home.
chapter one
Trading Places
“He’s a perv!” I yelled. I fixed my seat belt while switching the car radio to a grime station. I knew she hated that. “Why don’t you believe me?”
Louise looked at me like she wanted to give me a koof. But she couldn’t. She was my social wanker. She had issues starting the car. Her hands shook. “He says he was only standing outside the bathroom with your towel,” she said.
“Every time I step into the bathroom he’s pedophiling around,” I spat. “Have I got my shampoo? Have I got my bubble bath? Have I got my soap? Does he think I’m dumb enough to step into the bathroom without my tings? I’m telling you he’s a perv with a big prick P!”
Louise finally started the engine. She sucked in a nervous breath. She always did that when I dropped curses on her bony behind. “He . . . he says he was only trying to help,” she stuttered.
“Jack up your ears, Louise! He’s not helping me. I know the mission he’s on. I can bring my own stuff to the bathroom.”
Winding down her window, Louise blazed a fagarette. She pulled on it like she wanted to kill it with one drag. She looked out to the street. A hood-slug wearing a black hoodie walked a pit bull. She pulled away. This was the east ends of Ashburton where even the hounds peeped over their shoulders and paused before stepping around corners. I watched Louise puff her smoke out the window. By the angle of her brows I guessed she wanted to be at home sinking red wine and watching a Bridget Jones movie. She screwed up her face.
“Can I have one?” I asked.
“No!”
“Why not? You know I fire up anyway.”
“You’re not smoking while you’re with me.”
“And you’re not supposed to be blazing in the ride with me.”
Louise pulled on her cancer stick once more. She then blew out the window and stubbed it out. She placed the remaining half in her glove compartment.
At my feet was my banged-up cuddly meerkat toy. Its mouth was lengthened by a tear, one claw was missing on the left paw, and one eye was looser than the other. I picked it up and placed it on my lap. I stroked it twice and smiled at it.
Memories.
I threw Louise an evil eye-pass. Lily Allen’s “Smile”crackled from the car radio. No bass. Louise turned down the volume. I turned it back up even louder. Louise knew she was gonna lose this game. She gave me one of those really glances and shook her head.
“Where’re you taking me?” I asked.
“I don’t know yet.”
“Don’t know? The moon’s showing her dimples. Some social worker you are.”
“Playing little Miss Madam everywhere I take you doesn’t help. I’m fast running out of options.”
“Not my fault you always place me with freaks and prick fiddlers.”
“The Holmans have been fostering children in Ashburton for over twenty years. They’re very dependable. No one has ever made a complaint about them before . . . until this evening.”
“All the other kids must’ve been too scared to spill something,” I said. “She was always trying to hug me. What’s that about? Always up in my face she was with her welcome-to-The-X-Factor smile.” An image of my mum