he had. His house was by the beach, or the way he went on about it, it was more like a hut—he had to go outside to take a dump. Quiet he was. You wouldn’t believe the shit he’s been through. His lovely view didn’t do him much good. In fact, his lovely view murked his liccle cousin. He showed me a pic of her—she had—”
“That’s different,” Louise chopped my flow again.
“These Hamilton peeps? What do they do?”
“Tim, Mr. Hamilton, is an architect. His work takes him all over the country and beyond. His wife Susan does voluntary work at the youth club on South Smeckenham Road. She’s very experienced at working with kids of all ages. She’s been an emergency foster carer for nearly a year now.”
“What’s an architect?” I asked.
“People who design buildings.”
“Design buildings? They must be white, right? I’ve never seen any black people draw buildings—not even on TV.”
“Er, yeah, they are white. The Goldings are brilliant for the short term but don’t you think it would be more appropriate to be with your own kind for the long term?”
“Depends if they’re on point,” I said. “Architect and a youth worker? Don’t sound cool to me.”
“Then, Miss Brisset,” Louise chuckled, “what’s cool to you?”
I thought about it. The waitress returned with our lunch.
“Thank you,” smiled Louise.
Grabbing my Coke, I sank half of my glass before answering. “Why can’t you put me with interesting peeps? And I don’t give a fruck what color they are. Grime DJs, wrestlers, clowns, actors, singers, dancehall queens . . . or that woman whose balloon popped on Big Brother the other day. She needs looking after.”
“You need looking after, Naomi.”
“I can look after myself!” I raised my voice. I attacked my chicken and mushroom pie. “Wasn’t I doing that before you lot came into my life giving me all your boring rules and sending me to live in nuff postcodes?”
Shaking her head, Louise picked at her salad.
* * *
When Louise had finished her meal, she leaned in closer to me and dropped her voice to a whisper. “You know what time of year this is, don’t you?”
“Course. It’s April. I haven’t lost all my dumplings, Louise. You gonna get me another Coke?”
“No, you’ve had enough. When you get to my age you’ll have no teeth left.”
“Then I’ve got a long, long wait, innit.”
“Naomi! Try and be serious for once. You know what I’m talking about.”
I thought of Mum. The bathroom in our old flat booted an entry into my mind. It was horrible. I didn’t wanna chit the chat about her. It made me feel on the down-low.
“It’s been nearly four years,” I said. “Seems like it all happened just yesterday.”
Louise put on her top-rated social worker concerned look. “Don’t you want to do anything to remember her by?”
“What can I do?” I raised my tones. “She’s dead. We burned her. I can’t bring flowers to a . . . what d’you call it? It looks like an old jug.”
“An urn,” Louise helped me out.
“I can’t bring flowers to an urn, can I? That’s just wrong. I still can’t believe that Mum’s ashes could fit in there. I mean, with my mum’s size, she woulda never made the cut of Ashburton’s Next Top Model.”
Louise covered her mouth to block her chuckles but I wasn’t trying to be funny.
“I can’t work you out, Louise,” I said. “Didn’t you used to tell me to try and forget about what happened to my mum and think about my future? Now you’re telling me I gotta remember her. Make up your freaking mind! You’re aching my brain!”
“I just thought you might want to do—”
“No, I don’t. Carpet-bomb that. I don’t wanna remember her.”
I didn’t mean it like that. I think of her every day. But cos I think of her 24-7, I have to relive the way she died. It was all red.
“Okay, I get your point,” Louise said. She reached out and squeezed my shoulder. She still had her nine-week-course social worker expression on. “Is Colleen serving you food that you like?”
“Yeah, we went shopping yesterday. Tried some black people food as well. It fills you up. I had this hard banana thing and this hard potato thing.”
“Did they give you a choice? Or ask what you wanted?”
“Yeah, Colleen’s on point. She bought my cottage pies and my mash. She bought me some beads to put in my hair as well. She didn’t have enough time to put them in today.”
Louise examined my hair once more. “She did, did she?”
“Can’t have it plain,” I said. “I have to glam it up with something. Gonna have ’em in before I roll back to school.”
“Is that a good idea?”
“Trust me, when Kim sees it she’s gonna want a repeat of that one. But who’s gonna do it for her? She don’t live with black people, I do! Nats might do it for her though. Nats will do anything for her.”
Louise shook her head. She sipped her glass of water and gave me a hard look. “Now, Miss Brisset,” she said. “Mr. Holman. Did he really harass you?”
I took my time to reply. He never got jiggy with me but I didn’t love the way he scoped me. Something definitely wrong with him. He needs more counseling than I do.
I dodged Louise’s glare. “Can I have another Coke?”
“Not before you tell me what happened with Mr. Holman. The truth, Naomi. And not Kim’s version of it.”
I met Louise’s eyes. She had a really, really look going on.
“He was . . . trying to be too nice,” I replied. “It was getting on my nerves. I’m goggleboxing, he sits beside me and asks, Are you all right? I get up to go to the bog, Are you all right? I make myself a bacon sandwich and he comes in the kitchen, Are you all right? I bounce upstairs to my room and he asks, Are you all right? I’m sure he was watching me sleep and he’s there whispering, Are you all right? He was doing my brain in. I was thinking about clonging him with that Nutra Bullet thing they’ve got. I just wanted him to leave me the fruck alone and go to the hospital where he can ask if people are all right all freaking day! And she was just too weird.”
“Did he at any time spy on you or make you feel uncomfortable in a different way?”
I
