Black Sheep (20 page)

I hardly heard the house number and road name. “No way!” I didn’t mean to shout but I did – and I heard her gasp.

“
What
?”

“I said allow dat, man! No way man is putting himself through that again, no way!”

She didn’t say anything for a few seconds. I guess she was trying to process what I had just said. “A-are you serious? Dee?”

“I am, Misha! Sorry, I ain’t going through that again, not for you, your dad or anyone! No way, blud, no way...”

“What the...?” That was the first time I had ever heard Misha swear. The word sounded like a shotgun and I reeled from the impact. “You’ve got a nerve, Dwayne Kingston, a
bloody nerve! How can you talk about what you will and won’t go through? I put everything on the line for us,
everything
! I’ve fallen behind at school, I’ve had a fight
with my mum, left home, my dad’s vex’ with me, my mum’s vex’ with me, all because I’m standing up for your lame arse!”

Man, she was really tripping. I tried to get her to calm down. “Yo, Misha, easy, man, easy...”

But she wasn’t having it. “So, it’s OK for me to go through crap for you, is it? Huh? Doesn’t matter what I want, what my family think of me, of us, as long as
you’re still a badman, is that it?”

“Yo, baby...”

She kissed her teeth. “Don’t ‘Yo baby’ me! I’ve had it with you, Dwayne, you hear me? I’ve had it up to here with your selfishness and your stupid pride! You
don’t want to come and meet my dad and be a man, fine! But don’t expect ever to see me again.”

“Misha, wait, don’t be like that... it ain’t like that, it’s just that...”

“What have I asked you for, Dwayne? Huh?”

The pain in her voice came across loud and clear – and it cut me deep.

“
Nothing
! All I’ve done in this relationship is give, give, give – and now, when I ask you to give, when I ask you to step out of your comfort zone, you refuse point
blank! Well, I don’t know what they call that where you come from, but where I’m from there’s a word for that – and it isn’t ‘love’!”

“Misha, OK, I’m sorry, all right? I’m sorry...”

“You know what? You
are
sorry – a sorry punk-ass waste of space! I never want to see you again,
ever
!”

The phone went dead. I realised that I was shaking. I was fuming, man. I threw the phone against the wall but it didn’t smash into a million pieces like I wanted it to.

What had gotten into Misha? Just when I needed her most – what was she playing at?

‘She’s just woken up, that’s all. It was bound to happen sooner or later, you knew that. Now it’s time for you to make a choice, blud.’

‘
Free dat! I can think of nuff gyal that can come keep a man company, y’get me.’

I picked up my phone and began scrolling through the names: Lachelle, Shannon, Mariah, Chantelle, Rachel ... Then I flung the phone against the wall again and threw myself onto the bed. I was
proper vex’. I didn’t want any of those girls. I wanted Misha.

‘Time to make a choice, blud. Ya dun know!’

It was Tony who finally talked some sense into me. He had heard me shouting down the phone so he asked me, straight out, what the problem was.

I told him all about Misha. About her mum, her lifestyle, how she made me feel. And this fight we had just had about coming to meet her dad.

He laughed. “Looks like you’re just gonna have to man up, innit. What are you worried about? Just be yourself and let them see that you’re not a wasteman, that you’ve got
plans, and that you want to treat their daughter well. They can’t ask for more than that.”

“True dat.”

“Remember the verse from the Qur’an? Allah doesn’t change the condition of a people until they change what is in themselves. If you want good to come to you, you have to do
good. And pray, man, pray for whatever you want.”

I nodded. It made sense. So much of it made sense.

Then Tony laughed again. “You never know, the two of you could both become Muslim – then you could just marry her and make the whole ting halal, innit?”

I smiled but I was kinda shocked by the idea of marriage, still. But then I thought about having Misha with me all the time, not having to sneak around: waking up next to her, seeing her face
first thing in the morning and last thing at night, telling her everything, letting my guard down... It was like a fantasy, a dream.

Of course, I didn’t think about school or money or where we would live or even whether Misha wanted to become a Muslim. Hell,
I
wasn’t even a Muslim yet! But I was just
feeling the idea of the two of us on a path together, something to unite us, to keep us strong. Why not Islam?

Man, I was starting to lose my mind for sure.

MISHA

Mum wasn’t happy about me staying at Dad’s in Tottenham. She wanted me to come home.

“Misha, darling, this is just silly,” she said on the phone. “You’re making life difficult for your dad and his family. It really is too far to travel on your own –
and what are the chances of you getting to school on time? And you’ve got your exams to think about, love. Please, be sensible. Just come home.”

I pressed my lips together and tried not to scream. Mum refused point-blank to talk about what had happened the day I left home. And now, here she was, trying to convince me to come back so I
could get to school on time!

“Mum,” I said, trying to control my voice, “I love you and I miss you. But I’ll come home when we have had a chance to talk things through. I’m not coming back
until you agree to start listening to me. Until you can respect that I have a mind of my own, that I have my own views...”

“Oh, darling, if this is about that boy...”

“No, Mum, it’s got nothing to do with Dwayne; this is about you and me. This is about me growing up... I’ll be at Dad’s until you’re ready to talk, all right?
I’ve got to go now.”

“Misha!”

“Bye, Mum. I love you.”

The mention of Dwayne’s name put me in a bad mood all over again. Just as I was starting to adjust to the withdrawal symptoms. Of course, I had cut him off totally. I had a new number
anyway, since Dad had taken the other phone and, now that I was in North London, I didn’t have to think about running into him around Brixton, near Gran’s.

It hurt. Of course it did. It hurt so much that I had to force myself to get out of bed in the mornings, to bother to brush my hair, to read my Biology notes. But I forced myself all the same.
Misha Reynolds did not do ‘lovesick teenager’, remember? And exams were fast approaching – a fact I had conveniently ignored since our relationship took off.

Dad and Leona had become used to me moping around. Every time Leona saw me with a long face, she patted my arm.

“This too shall pass,” she would say. “Now, don’t you have some studying to do?”

Dad had laid down the law. Obviously, I was grounded and had to apologise to Mum for disrespecting her. I was to concentrate on my books from now on.

“As for this boy – Dwayne – I will make my own judgement of him. I’ve heard some things from your mother, of course, but, as we don’t see eye-to-eye on this type of
thing, I’m going to make my own mind up about this young man when he is ready to meet the family properly. Until then I don’t want you to see him.”

“We’ve broken up anyway,” I mumbled.

Dad just grunted and shook the pages of his newspaper.

A whole week passed and I was getting ready to eat another Sunday lunch at Dad’s. But just as we sat down to eat, we heard the doorbell ring. Mark, Mr Running Man himself, leapt up to go
and see who was at the door. When he came back from the door, he was grinning from ear to ear.

“It’s someone for you, sis,” he smiled, winking at me.

“For me?” I frowned. I looked over at Dad, who nodded his approval of me leaving the table.

I got up and walked towards the front door, hugging my jumper around myself, trying to still my jangling nerves. Who could it be?

When I got to the door, I saw a young boy with a hoodie and bright yellow trainers standing on the step in front of the door.

“Jerome!” I exclaimed. “What are you doing here? Are you on your own?” But before I could look around to see how on earth Jerome Kingston had made his way to my
father’s flat in North London, an older boy stepped out in front of me, his hood down, his hands behind his back.

It was Dwayne.

I jumped when I saw him, stifling a gasp with my hand. He was the last person I had expected to see – and here he was with his little brother, standing on my dad’s doorstep.

“Dwayne?” I whispered. “What are you doing here?”

But instead of answering me, Dwayne shook his head and gave Jerome a nudge. Jerome looked up at me and said, “Dwayne said he’s sorry.” Then he glanced up at his older brother
and, with a mischievous glint in his eye, continued: “Dwayne said he’s sorry for being a total wasteman, a loser, a waste of space, a eediaat...” He struggled while Dwayne held
his hand over his mouth, trying to keep a straight face. When at last Jerome had finished struggling, Dwayne let go of him and motioned for him to start again.

Jerome readjusted his clothes, then said in a very important voice, “Dwayne said he’s sorry for the way he went on bad. He would like you to forgive him and he would like you two to
get back together. And he’s come to meet your family.”

Dwayne interrupted. “If you’ll let me, Misha,” he said. “Only if you want me to meet them. I know I’ve hurt you and I’ve taken you for granted but I’m
gonna change, I swear down. Just give me a chance... please?”

And although I felt like crying and flinging my arms around him, I held myself back. I nodded and stepped aside to let them in.

“Come in then,” I said quietly. “You’re just in time for lunch.”

Dwayne looked up at all the posters on the walls and the African masks on the shelves and let out a low whistle. “This is proper old skool, innit,” he said softly.

When we reached the dining room, Dwayne finally came face to face with Dad, sitting at the head of the table, looked dignified and serious, his silver dreadlocks like a lion’s mane about
his shoulders and down his back. He was looking at him with a neutral expression: neither welcoming nor hostile, just expectant. Unlike Dad, Leona had a welcoming look on her face, a small smile
playing on her lips. Mark had already run off to the kitchen to fetch two extra chairs.

Dwayne swallowed and said, “Good afternoon, Mr Reynolds, Mrs Reynolds, I’m sorry to disturb you during lunch... I...I wanted to come over and apologise for...”

Dad held up his hand. “Later, son,” he said, gesturing towards the chairs that Mark had just dragged in from the kitchen. “For now, sit. You and your little brother will eat
with us.”

Leona smiled and said graciously, “Welcome to our home, Dwayne. Please, sit down.”

“These are for you, Mrs Reynolds,” said Dwayne, handing a slender bunch of lilies to Leona. I was seriously impressed!

Leona’s face lit up and she beamed with pleasure. “Oh, thank you, Dwayne, that is so sweet of you. Look at these, Isaiah, my favourites!” She turned to Jerome. “And
what’s your name, little man?”

“J-Jerome, Miss,” stammered Jerome, apparently caught off balance by her school-teacher voice.

Imani laughed. “She’s not Miss, she’s Mum!”

“Well, you can call me Mrs Reynolds, or Leona – though most of the children call me Auntie Lee.”

“OK, then... Auntie Lee.” Jerome grinned sheepishly and sat down.

DWAYNE

I was well proud of the way Jay was handling himself. After a week, Mum had calmed down and let me see him again, even though she wouldn’t let me move back in.

“Jay needs space, Dwayne,” she said.

But I didn’t mind – as long as I got to see my little bro, y’get me. I had slapped him around a few times about the robbery. He’d been lucky – the judge let him off
with a warning.

“But if you try pulling any stunts like that again, I’ll bang you, y’understand?”

Jay looked scared out of his mind but he nodded. He knew I wasn’t playing. I think Mum knew I wasn’t messing around either. I sat her down and we had a real heart-to-heart: I told
her that I was off the badness, that I was thinking of becoming Muslim, that I wanted to be a good role model for Jay.

I could see in her eyes that she really wanted to believe me. Which is why she finally agreed to let me take Jay with me to North London, to see Misha’s dad.

“Don’t go showing me up, y’know!” I’d said to him while I got ready. “I’m trying to make a good impression, y’get me, so any foolishness from you
and I’ll bang you, y’understand?”

“Don’t worry, Dee, I won’t let you down,” Jay replied. He looked chuffed that I was trusting him with this, telling him about my business, something I never did.

“Yeah, I know you won’t, man, I know. Now, how do I look?”

“Like a badman!”

“
What?
No, seriously, do I look decent, y’know, proper?”

Jay put his head to one side and looked me up and down: the big diamond earring was gone, I didn’t have a cap, just my favourite leather jacket and a pair of jeans. Jay frowned and peered
at the jeans again.