was a whole crowd now, screaming and crying, as well as Jimmy’s family and friends. The ambulance drove away up the Selborne Road to King’s College Hospital, but it did not bring Jimmy back. A little later, Pupatee went over to the hospital and saw Jimmy’s brother coming out.
‘Is he all right?’ Pupatee asked.
‘He’s dead,’ his brother managed to get out. This brother was normally a big strong young man, but now he seemed to have shrunk with distress and sorrow. Pupatee stood outside the hospital for a while, and then made his way back to the house. Pupatee thought Jimmy would come running out to play any minute. He couldn’t accept that his best friend would no longer laugh with him again.
Jimmy was buried the following Friday in the pouring rain at the cemetery in Peckham. The church was filled with mourners of all ages and colours. There were many boys from Jimmy’s school, and girls and boys from other local comprehensives. They were all gathered around Jimmy’s coffin. The priest gave his sermon. He said that Jimmy had been robbed of his life which had only just begun, but that he could only be going to a better place from this world of devastation in which we must try to continue our lives. And then everyone sang ‘Rock of Ages, Pledge for Me’ and they went outside into the graveyard, towards the hole which had been dug, ready for Jimmy. Pupatee saw Jimmy’s mum and dad. Both were dressed in black. His mum, who had always been such a cheerful, beautiful woman, had turned old and withered. The priest said some prayers and then sprinkled earth on top of Jimmy’s little coffin. Jimmy’s dad looked down into the hole as if to say: Don’t go, son, come back to your dad, and he seemed to want to jump into the grave. It took his friends to hold him back.
You couldn’t see the tears for the rain. There were red eyes and running noses. Pupatee thought of the funeral he had gone to in Jamaica with all the laughter and music, the feast of food and drinking, the singing and the wailing and the praying. And then he, too, noticed that he was crying and he took out his handkerchief to wipe the rain and the tears from his face.
The priest left and the mourners slipped away, taking Jimmy’s mum and dad with them. It was the saddest thing Pupatee had ever seen. A few weeks later Jimmy’s family moved away from Camberwell. Pupatee never saw them again.
As time passed, Pupatee settled into his life in South London. Even after a couple of years he still missed his brother Carl, and the freedom and colour of his outdoor life in Jamaica, but as he made new friends and learned new ways, the acute homesickness of the early days receded. His English had improved, school was bearable now he was gaining respect from his peers for his toughness in the playground, and although he still received regular beatings from Joe, he had learned to mind them less.
One morning, Pupatee woke up late for school. He leaped out of bed and ran down the stairs, pulling on his clothes. ‘Why didn’t anybody wake me?’ he called. Miss Utel and all the children were standing in the hall, dressed in their Sunday best. Half the furniture was missing from the house. Through the open door Pupatee could see a big blue removals van.
‘We’ve finished putting everything in the van, Mummy,’ Terry was saying. ‘Are they ready to go now?’
‘Hold on a minute, Terry,’ Miss Utel said, turning to Pupatee. ‘Pupatee, I am sorry I can’t take you with me. You are not my child, you will have to stay with your brother.’ She fished into her purse and pulled out a few shillings. ‘Take this, Pupatee. Goodbye.’
He took the money and stared at her, and beyond to Terry and Johnny and the rest all waiting to leave. Miss Utel turned as if to go, but suddenly she stopped and he saw a look of worry and concern on her face. ‘Pupatee,’ she said, ‘when you grow up, don’t kill Joe for what he put you through. He is your brother.’ Then she walked out the door and Pupatee watched the van drive away.
For the rest of that day, all Pupatee could do was wait for his brother to come home. When Joe opened the front door, he immediately realised what had happened. A string of insults flew from his mouth, and Pupatee prepared himself for the worst, but for the first time he saw something else beneath his brother’s anger. Joe looked lost.
‘Fucking prostitute,’ he said. He shook his head as if trying to banish all thoughts of Miss Utel and his children from his mind. Then he walked into the kitchen, which was bare apart from a few old plates and cups and saucepans – though Miss Utel had been good enough to leave some food.
Pupatee was curious at his brother’s unusual behaviour and followed him quietly. He watched Joe standing there with a vexed look on his face, trying to work out what he was going to do. Joe sighed heavily. ‘Pupatee,’ he shouted loudly, unaware that the boy was right behind him.
‘Here, bredda.’
‘Oh, you’re there. Now listen carefully. I am going to teach you how to cook, because if I don’t work we won’t be able to eat and if I have to come home and cook as well, then one night I’ll drop dead.’
‘Yes, bredda.’
Joe turned immediately to the counter, saying no more about Miss Utel, and took out a packet of white rice.
‘Put this in a container and pick it,’ he said. ‘Take out all the black bits and the dirt and stones.’ While Pupatee did this, Joe took some cabbage and a knife and told him to watch what he did. ‘You cut the cabbage in half like this and cut up one half fine. Then you put three pots with water on the stove.’ He put the cabbage in one pot. ‘Don’t put too much water with the cabbage,’ he said, ‘otherwise it will boil out to sogginess. It should be steam cooked, you see?’
Then he showed Pupatee how to chop up saltfish, which he put in the second pot. ‘You boil it to get the salt out,’ he said. By now, Pupatee had finished picking the rice, and he washed it and tipped it into the third pot.
Then Joe put a Dutch oven on the stove and poured oil on to the bottom. ‘Cut this onion up,’ he said, ‘and chop this garlic fine.’ When Pupatee had done this, the garlic and onions began to fry and a delicious smell rose from the pan. ‘Now you add butter and salt and a small onion to the rice,’ Joe said, ‘and leave it on a low fire to bubble away.’
By this time, the saltfish was soft and the salt had boiled away into the water. Joe took it out and pulled the flesh off the bone. Then he added it to the frying garlic and onions, and seasoned the dish with chilli peppers, curry powder, turmeric, thyme and salt. Soon the beautiful smell of Jamaican cooking was filling the kitchen, and Pupatee’s mind wandered happily. His reverie didn’t last long.
‘When the fish is ready, you can add it to the cabbage and let it all simmer up together. Now you got all that?’
‘Yes, bredda.’
‘Tell me how you start then.’
Pupatee’s mind raced, searching for the beginning, but all he could think about was how cross Joe suddenly looked and how he didn’t want him to get any crosser.
‘Wash the rice,’ he said.
Slap! Joe’s hand smacked the side of Pupatee’s head.
‘What about picking it?’ he boomed out.
‘Yes, and pick it,’ Pupatee said, recalling what he had done. ‘Put the rice in to cook, adding salt
