Home Girl. Alex Wheatle
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“Are you sure of that, Naomi?” Louise asked. “They were only trying to be friendly. And I’ve told you before, you shouldn’t listen to everything Kim says.”
Even then Louise didn’t believe me. Her casserole didn’t have any dumplings. What do I have to do to make this woman see the pig in the sky?
“The other day I was watching Titanic,” I said. “I always leak tears when I watch that part when Leo sinks into the sea. She comes over and hugs me like I agreed to be her Surrey Gate mum. I told her if she pollutes my personal space again I’m gonna clong her with a casserole pot when she’s sleeping. When I finish with her she’ll still be seeing tweety birds when she’s having her varicose veins done. I’m telling ya, Louise, they’ve got something of asylum ward twenty-one about ’em.”
Louise kept quiet. Maybe the truth finally slapped her sensible spot.
“I’m hungry,” I said. I wasn’t lying. My stomach snorted. “Where’re you taking me? And I don’t wanna go to no Alabama Chicken Cottage or Mississippi Hen Hut. Their chicken is off-key.”
Louise didn’t answer. She kept her eyes on the road. Ten minutes later, she pulled into the car park of a McD’s restaurant on the Ashburton ring road. She took out a five-pound note from her purse. I liberated it from her, picked up my meerkat, and was gone before Louise could say the N of Naomi. I looked back when I reached the McD’s entrance. Louise shook her head, took out her mobile phone from her handbag, and punched a number. She retrieved her half-smoked cigarette from the glove compartment, sparked it, and looked out the window.
* * *
I had just sunk the last morsel of a cheese quarter-pounder when Louise parked her slim butt opposite me. She looked like she had joined in on one of those charity fun-runs but her fitness wasn’t up to spec. “Your man not coming around tonight?” I asked.
“Leave it, Naomi.”
“He might be cheating on ya, goring someone else.”
“Naomi!”
“If that was me I’d churn his balls with one of those food-blitzer things when he’s sleeping.”
Through a straw I sucked my chocolate milkshake trying to roadblock a giggle. I couldn’t quite manage it. A spattering of chocolate spewed out over the table and over Louise’s brown leather jacket. A passing black teenage girl carrying a tray of burgers and fries laughed out loud. I put my drink down and wiped my mouth and nose with the back of my hand. Louise’s eyebrows switched forty-five degrees and something funny happened to her lips. She was on the edge of the cliff wearing five-inch-high stilettos. I might’ve gone too far.
“Sorry,” I said.
Louise huffed and puffed to the counter. She returned moments later with a handful of napkins and a coffee. I had wiped the table clean. I leaned back into my seat with my meerkat squashed between my arms and stomach.
Louise groped for her phone in her jeans pocket. She closed her eyes and took in two mega breaths. She scoped me hard. “Would you mind staying for a week or two with a black family?” she suggested. “I was thinking of this second-generation British, West Indian family. It’s not ideal but it won’t be for long. Just until I can place you somewhere more suitable.”
“A black family?” Monkey on ball bearings. What’s she on?
“Yes,” Louise nodded. “As I said, only for a short while. They’re very good. And you’ve got black friends you get on very well with.”
I shrugged. This is new. It could be interesting. “I s’pose. As long as they’re not too hugalicious or prick fiddlers.”
Louise jabbed her mobile. I watched her every move. She picked up her coffee and walked out of the restaurant. She kept an eye on me through the window. What’s the frucking point? She’s gonna give me the lowdown anyway.
I hot-toed outside to join her. Louise turned her back on me.
“Put it on speaker,” I urged.
Louise ignored me.
“It’s about me, right? Put it on speaker.”
Louise did what she was told.
“Hello? Hello, Colleen, it’s Louise. Thank God you’re in.”
“Hi, Louise. Everything good with you?”
“Not exactly. I’m in a spot.”
“Oh, what’s up?”
“Can you do me a big favor? I have tried everybody else and I’m fast running out of options. I know it’s late in the day but I really need your help.”
“It’s after eight so—”
“I have an emergency case,” Louise interrupted. “I really need an emergency foster carer for the next two weeks or so until I can find somewhere permanent.”
“Two weeks is no problem. I’ll just clean up our spare bedroom. I haven’t used it for a while. Anything about the case I need to know? I’m not having you shove any self-harmers our way without you telling us. That last case really scared the kids. Tony had to give the bedroom walls a new coat of paint.”
Louise offered me a worried glance; I made a face at her.
“No, nothing like that,” Louise replied. “Well, er, there’s something but we’ll talk about it when I arrive. That last case, I didn’t even know she was a self-harmer. It wasn’t on her file and she didn’t have any scars on her arms.”
“You should’ve looked at her legs.”
“I know that now. I’m so sorry, my mistake.”
“Who’s loving razor blades?” I wanted to know. “Is it Taneka Taylor who used to be at the unit? Her life was always on a detour.”
Louise covered her phone with her hand. “Not now, Naomi.”
“So how do you know this emergency case isn’t a self-harmer?” Colleen wanted confirmation.
“I have known the case for a while.”
“I’m not a fricking case,” I raised my voice. “I’ve got a name. Naomi Brisset.”
Louise side-eyed me. She was back on the edge of the cliff.
“How old?” asked Colleen.
“Fourteen.” Louise eye-drilled me. “Going on twenty-
nine,” she resumed. “There’s something you should know.”
“Oh? What’s that?”
“She’s Caucasian. Normally I wouldn’t . . .”