Nose wrinkled in disgust, Chantelle waited for the filthy chuckle at the end of the message. Then, keeping as even a tone as she could manage, she said, ‘Call me back as soon as you get this. I know you’ve probably forgotten, but my exams are starting on Monday and I need to get my head down, so I could really do without having to watch our Leon.
Call
me.’
She’d just finished the message when the door opened behind her. Sure that it was her mum, because Leon didn’t have a key, she turned around, saying, ‘Oh, good, you’re back. I just left you a mes—’ She trailed off when she saw her brother and frowned. ‘How did you get in?’
Leon held up her keys and rattled them. ‘You left them in the lock.’
‘You’re joking!’ Chantelle gasped. ‘God, what an idiot.’
‘You said it.’ Leon smirked, tossing the keys onto the table. ‘Mum still in bed?’
‘No, she’s gone out.’ Chantelle followed as he wandered into the kitchen. ‘And she hasn’t been shopping, so don’t bother rooting.’
Leon looked in the fridge anyway, and then slammed the door when he saw that she was telling the truth. ‘When’s she coming back? I’m starving.’
‘No idea. But she’s left some money, so I’ll go to the shops in a bit.’
‘You’re not cooking, are you?’ Leon pulled a face. ‘Can’t we have chippy?’
‘I suppose so,’ Chantelle conceded. ‘But then I’ve got to revise, so I hope you’re going to be quiet.’
‘I won’t be here,’ Leon told her, walking back out into the hall. ‘I only came back for something to eat. I’m off to Kermit’s.’
‘I want you to stay in now you’re here,’ Chantelle told him.
‘Get stuffed,’ Leon grunted, still heading for the door. ‘It’s not even five yet; Mum lets me stay out till seven.’
‘Yeah, but she’s not here, so I’m in charge,’ said Chantelle. ‘And I’ve got too much to do, so I want you where I can see you.’
‘I’ll have a sausage when you go to the chippy,’ Leon said over his shoulder, already opening the door. ‘And gravy.’
‘
Leon!
’ Chantelle rushed up the hall when he stepped outside and pulled the door shut. ‘Come back here!’ She followed him out onto the landing and gritted her teeth when she saw him legging it for the stairs. ‘Right, fine, go then,’ she called after him. ‘But I’ll be coming for you on my way back from the chippy, so make sure you’re ready ’cos I’m not hanging round like an idiot if it starts raining!’
Leon raised his hand before disappearing into the stairwell. Chantelle was starting to feel sick by now, and her head was throbbing. Praying that the headache didn’t turn into a full-blown migraine, she went back into the flat and swallowed a couple of paracetamol. Then, with an hour still to go before the chippy opened, she lay down on the couch and pulled a cushion over her eyes.
2
The Richmond Estate, on the border between Hulme and Old Trafford, was mainly populated by single mothers and their offspring. There was a play area in the centre of the estate, which no child dared go near for fear of getting battered by the hoody boys who hung out there to smoke weed and sniff glue. There was also a car park and a set of garages, which none of the residents ever used, because they knew their cars would get broken into or set on fire as soon as their backs were turned. Of the parade of shops, only two of the original six were still occupied. The owners of the other units had long ago given up on trying to run a business in a place where the majority of their customers had perfected the art of paying for one item whilst walking out with three.
The two units that were still in business sat side by side at the end of the parade. Abdul’s General Store had just closed when Chantelle got there at six, but Jimmy’s Chippy had just opened. The heat from the fryers smacked her in the face when she walked in, and the delicious scents of vinegar and freshly cooked chips made her stomach growl. The owner, Jimmy, a tiny Chinese man who could barely see over the counter, beamed when he saw her.
‘Ah … long time, no see, missy. You had babba now?’
Chantelle smiled when he mimed rocking a baby in his arms, and shook her head. ‘You must be thinking of someone else. Can I get two lots of sausage and chips and a small tub of gravy, please?’
‘Fi’ minutes,’ Jimmy said, his smiling eyes just slits in the deep wrinkles of his kindly face as he stirred his batch with vigour.
On the shelf behind him a portable TV sat between a pyramid of soda cans and a statue of a nodding, waving cat. Chantelle placed her cold hands up against the glass of the warming cabinet and glanced at the screen. It was tuned to the six o’clock news, and flickering images of what appeared to be a riot were flashing across the screen behind the sombre-faced reporter. The volume was too low for her to hear what he was saying, but the subtitles told her that there had, earlier that day in Bury, been a violent confrontation between a faction of the English Defence League and a group of Muslims protesting about a deportation.
‘Idiots.’ Jimmy gave a backward jerk of his head when he saw her watching it. ‘They need try t’ai chi.’ He raised a knee and both hands into the air to demonstrate. ‘Good for chase devil out here.’ He lowered his leg and patted his chest now, to indicate, Chantelle guessed, that he was referring to the heart. Then, pointing a gnarly old finger at her, he said, ‘You no have devil; your mama kep’ it for hersel’ when you born. But your brudda …’ He trailed off and sucked an ominous breath in through his wonky teeth.
Curious to know what he meant, Chantelle was about to ask when the door opened behind her and a gust of freezing air swirled around her legs.
‘It’s kicking
right
off out there,’ the woman who came in declared excitedly as she approached the counter. ‘That nonce has just walked round the corner bold as brass, and them black lads are having a right go at him. No offence,’ she added quickly for Chantelle’s benefit, ‘but there’s two lots of ’em what hang around outside here of a night, one black, one white.’
Chantelle bit her tongue and handed her money over to Jimmy when he placed her wrapped food on the counter.
‘Be careful,’ he cautioned as he pressed her change into her hand. ‘Go other way, and run run run.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll be fine,’ Chantelle murmured, hugging the warm parcels to her chest and stepping back out into the cold.
Outside the burned-out TV repair shop at the other end of the row, several youths had formed a circle around the old man who was known locally as Paedo Bob. It was rumoured that he had once been arrested for flashing his bits at some kids in the park, and everyone on the estate hated him even though he’d never actually been charged. Whether or not it was true, Chantelle couldn’t help but feel sorry for him now as she watched him turn this way and that, trying to grab back the filthy multicoloured bobble-hat that the lads were tossing to each other over his head. They were all much younger, taller and stronger than him, and they might be laughing now, but Chantelle knew their mood could easily turn. One wrong word and Bob would be on the floor with a flurry of feet aiming at his head.
As she stood there, torn between minding her own business and intervening, Chantelle felt a prickle on the back of her neck as if someone was staring at her. She snapped her gaze to the left and was surprised to see Anton Davis leaning casually back against the wall, smoking a cigarette. A slow smile came onto his lips when their eyes met, and she felt a blush rise to her cheeks. She hadn’t seen him around in a while and had heard that he’d been sent down, although she didn’t know what for. He’d always been good-looking, and all the girls at school had fancied him. Loads of them had even fought over him, but Chantelle had always steered well clear – partly because of his reputation but mainly because she’d seen enough girls fall for boys like him to know that, whatever kick girls got out of being a bad boy’s bitch-of-the-moment, it was never worth the inevitable heartache. They either ended up hitting you, cheating on you, or getting you pregnant – none of which Chantelle was stupid enough to volunteer for.
When the old man suddenly let out a cry, Chantelle turned her attention back to the gang. They had stopped throwing the hat and were now pushing Bob around, and when she saw from their expressions that they were no longer playing, she yelled, ‘Oi! Pack it in, you lot. Leave him alone.’
They all turned and stared at her, and for an awful moment she thought they were going to start on her instead. But then Anton whistled softly between his teeth and, like a pack of dogs obeying a command, the lads backed away. Still smiling, Anton winked at her. Then, jerking his head at his mates, he turned and walked away.
‘Thanks, love,’ the old man gasped as he staggered towards Chantelle, his unshaven face grey, his bloodshot eyes bulging with fear and indignation. ‘I thought I’d had it there. They want bloody hanging!’
‘If anyone wants hanging round here, it’s
you
,’ bellowed the woman from the chip shop, who had just stepped out behind Chantelle. ‘Blokes like you want your dicks cutting off and rammin’ down your throats, if you ask me. Now,
gercha
, before I do it meself, y’ dirty auld bastard!’
She swung her bag at him and cackled with jubilation when he fled back the way he’d come. ‘I fuckin’ hate nonces, me,’ she told Chantelle when he’d gone. ‘If I had my way, they’d bang the whole filthy lot of ’em up in a cell and let ’em bugger each other senseless – see how
they
like it.’
Venom vented, she walked away, leaving Chantelle with a bitter taste in her mouth. She’d lived on this estate her entire life, and most of her neighbours were decent. But for every good one on the left, it seemed there was a replica of that nasty bitch on the right: gobby, bigoted, and ready to attack at the drop of a hat. At times like this, she couldn’t wait to leave school and get a good job so she could get the hell out of here.
‘Who was that girl back at the shops?’ Anton asked his mate, Shotz, when they had left the other lads and were heading up the stairs of their block.
‘Some mate of our Teshia’s from school,’ Shotz told him. ‘Think her name’s Chanel, or Chantelle, or something. Why?’
‘No reason,’ Anton said casually, although he was secretly disappointed to hear that she was still a schoolie because he’d thought she looked older. It explained why he hadn’t recognised her, though, because he’d never even
looked
at the younger girls when he’d still been at school; too busy working his way through the ones of his own age to bother.
‘Coming up to mine for a smoke?’ Shotz asked when they reached Anton’s floor.
‘In a bit,’ Anton told him. ‘Just need to jump in the bath and get changed first.’
‘Laters.’ Shotz touched fists with him before bouncing up the stairs to his place on the floor above.
Anton was deep in thought as he walked on down the landing to his mum’s flat. He hadn’t long come home after serving eighteen months of his three-year sentence, and he was finding it hard to adjust. Not because anything had dramatically changed, but because it
hadn’t
. Everyone was acting the same as before he’d left, and they all seemed to think that he should be able to pick up where he’d left off without missing a beat. But
he
had changed, so it wasn’t that easy. All that shit back at the shops just now, for example. Back in the day, he’d probably have joined in with his mates’ game of piggy-in-the-middle with the old nonce, but he just couldn’t see the fun in it any more. All he could think about was the shit they could have landed him in if it had got out of hand, as it generally did with those guys. It wasn’t their fault that he’d changed, so he knew he shouldn’t be too hard on them. But they had to keep that shit away from him while he was on probation, because there was no way he was going back down for them – or anyone.
Just seconds after Anton had gone inside his mum’s flat and closed the door, Chantelle came up the stairs and walked to a flat five along from his.
Kermit’s mum, Linda, smiled when she answered the door. ‘All right, love … here for your Leon? They’re in our Kermit’s room playing that
Reverend Evil
– or whatever they call it. Come in while I fetch him.’
‘No, you’re all right, I’ll wait here. Need to get home before the chips go cold.’ Chantelle nodded down at the parcels in her arms to prove that she really did have chips and wasn’t just making excuses – although that was exactly what she
was
doing. The one and only time she had made the mistake of going inside, Kermit’s little brothers and sisters had leapt on her and by the time Linda had managed to prise them off her blazer had been smeared with snot, and the stench of dirty nappies had clung to her for days afterwards. So now, if she had to come round here, she always stayed out on the landing.
Leon was frowning when he came to the door. He’d been begging for a PlayStation for every Christmas and birthday for as long as he could remember, but his mum always said she couldn’t afford it so the only chance he ever got to play on one was when he came round here.
‘I’ve only just got here,’ he complained, staying put in the hall and talking to his sister through the crack in the door. ‘I’ll come back in a bit.’
Chantelle shook her head. ‘No, the chips will be freezing. Come on.’
‘I’m not hungry. Kermit made us some toast.’
‘You knew I was going to the chippy so you should have said no,’ Chantelle scolded. ‘Anyway, I told you I’d be coming for you, so stop messing about.’
‘Can’t I just finish my game?’
‘No, it’s too dark, so just do as you’re told – and hurry up.’
‘I
hate
you,’ Leon spat, turning on his heel and marching back to Kermit’s bedroom to get his jacket.
‘Watch it!’ Chantelle protested when he came out onto the landing a few seconds later and barged past her. But he stomped ahead without answering.
Leon snatched one of the parcels out of her hand when they got home and marched into his bedroom. ‘You forgot your gravy,’ Chantelle called after him, but he muttered, ‘Stick it up your arse’ and slammed the door in her face.
Seconds later, the monotonous
Boom! Boom! Boom!
of the anti-everything rap music that he had recently taken a liking to started blasting out. Chantelle squeezed her eyes shut when her head began to throb along to the beat. She felt like kicking the door open and tossing his cheap stereo out of the window – and him along with it. But she couldn’t take any more aggravation, so she bit down on the anger and went into the kitchen to eat her dinner. Then, taking her books into her own bedroom, she stuffed cotton wool into her ears and tried to get on with her revision.