Too Much Trouble (2 page)

Looking back now, I know that the teachers must have been asking some questions. I'm sure that they discussed the two boys whose parents never showed up to parents' evenings. But no one asked the right questions.

There were teachers who really tried to care for me and Prince. Asking us how we were getting on. Asking about life at home. Asking about our parents. But I guess it's difficult to carry on caring when all you get is shrugs in reply.

I could see Prince, standing with his class on the steps outside Mrs Jacobs' classroom. He hadn't seen me, but I didn't wave. I usually just waited. I didn't go over to the class because Mrs Jacobs would ask me how I was getting on at secondary school. I didn't really know how I was getting on. OK, I thought.

Eventually Prince saw me and pointed me out to Mrs Jacobs. She waved and sent Prince running towards me, his book-bag flailing over one shoulder and a piece of paper, with what looked like straws stuck to it, clutched in his hand.

‘Yes, yes, yes!' he shouted at me. ‘Can we get McDonalds, um-um?' He licked his lips as he said
this and I remembered my own hunger. So far that day I had eaten a packet of crisps on the way to school and a slice of pizza from the school canteen at lunch.

I didn't reply, but asked, ‘What is that?' And I pointed to the paper-and-straw construction, which was mostly green and held together with a lot of sellotape.

‘It's a football pitch.' Prince held it up for me to inspect. ‘Can't you see? We had to make a model of somewhere that makes us happy.' Prince was looking at his model, the look of pride in his achievement on his face battling with confusion about why I couldn't see what he saw. ‘Most people just did their house and stuff. Miss said mine was very original.' He paused for a moment. ‘I can't remember what she said ‘original' meant. She thought it was good, anyway.'

I didn't think it was good. How can a place make you happy? It didn't look like a football pitch either. It looked like a piece of paper that had been painted green and had paper straws stuck to it, which is what it was. And that didn't make me happy either.

We didn't get McDonalds but walked home past Something Fishy, and got some dinner there. It was
a bit of a longer walk, but well worth it - they did the best chips. We shared a large portion. I had a fish-cake and Prince had a battered sausage. Prince wanted scampi, but funds were running low.

In a sulk, Prince picked over his battered sausage and nearly threw a fit when I said, ‘If you don't want it, I'll eat it.'

We walked down the alley between Kelfield Road and Greens Close. Near the end was our fence.

To get into the house we had to do some climbing. Our uncle had forbidden us to use the front door. He said we looked suspicious, and besides, he only gave us a key for the back. Prince loved the climb, but I didn't. Prince has always been better than me at anything physical, apart from fighting. No matter how many times we clambered over that fence I still felt giddy at the top of the wooden panels. I imagined what would happen if I fell off the top, what would happen to me if I was hospitalised, what would happen to Prince. Responsibility makes everything more dangerous.

We had to try to stay as low as possible while we climbed – we didn't want the neighbours to notice us hoisting ourselves over every day. First I helped Prince, and then I pulled myself up.
We used to have a loose panel that swung aside so we could squeeze through, but we wedged it shut when a massive dog got right into the house. We both hated dogs.

***

I had good reason to hate them. A Golden Retriever had tried to take a chunk out of my arm once. I know, a Golden Retriever! I was at the park, and Prince was at home. First I went on the swings. I always wanted to see if it was possible to swing right round, you know, over the top. Then I was just wandering around. Maybe I was waiting for one of my friends, I can't remember.

Anyway, this big stick came out of nowhere and whacked me on the side of the head. The stick wasn't so big that it knocked me down, but big enough that it really hurt. I was a bit dazed, but bent down to pick up the stick. Next thing I knew, this great big, hairy dog was all over me, teeth bared. It tried to grab my arm but just got my jacket, so I hit it with the stick.

Then this man came running over. He was quite old. He had dark hair streaked with grey and a big grey moustache that drooped over some of his mouth.
‘What the hell do you think you are doing to my dog? Put that stick down, you little. . .!' And so on.

I just threw the stick, and when the dog followed it, I ran. I didn't look back. I was only nine then.

I think Prince hates dogs because I've told him that story so many times.

***

So we climbed over the fence into the most overgrown back garden you will ever see. The grass was so tall, Prince and I used to crawl through it and you couldn't see either of us. There was a bush about the size of a car that had taken over one side of the garden. Another plant had spread in and out of the grass. It had white flowers the size of my hand, that you could pop out of their leaves by squeezing the end.

We traversed that jungle twice a day, to and from the house. A very empty house. It had a mossy smell that hit you as you came through the door, like the smell of a garden crossed with the smell of an open dustbin on a warm day. All that the house contained was our mattresses, clothes, school stuff, a television and DVD player, and a lot of plants.

And I mean a lot. All identical, leafy plants.

The plants belonged to my uncle and his friends. They grew under special lights in the whole of the basement and the first floor. We lived on the ground floor. We were not allowed near the plants. Occasionally, we had ventured into the purple glow and warmth of the lights, and braved the intensity of the mossy smell that came from the leafy forest.

But we tried to obey my uncle as much as possible. We had discovered what happened when we didn't.

This is where we lived. Just me and Prince. We lived there alone because our mother and father sent us to England. We lived there because this was our uncle's way of looking after us. We had arrived in his life three years earlier. Giving us regular money and a roof over our heads was all that he said he could do. He also said that if we made too much trouble the money would stop and the plants would move into the downstairs as well.

I guess we made too much trouble.

Our uncle Victor was a great man back in our country. I don't remember much from those days, when Prince and I lived in Africa, but I remember that people listened to my uncle. He would sometimes give talks in front of the whole town. He even had soldiers with him sometimes.

The last time I saw him there, I was eight. I was playing in the street, playing a game with stones that my father had taught me. You had to move the stones by jumping them over one another on a grid traced on to the ground. Seeing the dust of a big car coming, and hearing the noise of music over a rattling engine, I ran inside to my parents and Prince.

My father came outside, I stood in front of him and we both looked down the road as the car approached. I saw Victor and I shouted out excitedly, ‘Uncle, it is Uncle!' I was little then and just saw a loving uncle, who occasionally brought us nuts and sweets.

‘Hush!' my father said harshly. ‘I want you to go and get your brother. I want you to take him out the back. And I want you to walk to school.'

I remember so clearly because it was in the evening and we had been at school all day. I remember thinking that my father was playing a joke on me. I remember that my father used to make jokes. But then I looked at his face. It was very serious. He looked neither angry nor sad, but somewhere in between.

I asked him slowly, ‘You want me to take Prince to school?'

He said even more sharply, ‘Now!'

I was stung. My father was normally so gentle. I looked down the road again and saw my uncle shielding his eyes from the sun and looking right at me.

In a moment I was back inside the house. I told Prince that I could beat him in a race to the school. Prince has always loved competitions. He was faster than me when he was just three and I was six.
‘Slow-coach, slow-coach!' he used to chant, giggling. Anyway, Prince was out the back door as quickly as I came in the front. I followed him, my mind racing through thought after thought, trying to invent a plausible story for what my father had asked us to do.

‘I will give you a head start of one minute,' I said to Prince. I was as scared as I had ever been but just as curious – and for a moment the curiosity had won out. By lingering for just sixty seconds, I thought I could try to work out what was going on.

I heard the rumbling vehicle stop in front of the house and the music cut off. I heard muffled voices and the front door open and close.

I heard my uncle's deep and almost sing-song voice. ‘This is the last time I will tell you, brother, we can't stay here. The rebels are heading in this direction, it is not safe.'

‘I knew you would go! But this is where we live. It was always just a playground to you, but we have built a home here!' my father roared back.

As his voice rose I could feel fear replacing everything else I had felt. I ran as fast as I could. For once I did beat Prince in a race.

***

On the night when this story starts, the night before our lives changed again, we watched the television and tried to do our homework. Prince had some maths work; multiplying two-and-three-digit numbers. I think I helped him but neither of us was completely sure. The worksheet said we had to write down all our working-out. We used a calculator, so we definitely got all the correct answers.

My English teacher had asked us to design a cover for a book we had been reading in class. I knew most people would do it on a computer. I did it in pencil and used all three of the felt-tip pens we had. It didn't look good. In fact, between my book cover and Prince's football pitch we had produced some work to rival Akeeb Aslam's at his most weird.

On the television we watched the usual soap operas, the ones that we had to watch in order to join in the right conversations the next day. We also watched a programme about a group of superheroes. They had to stop one of the baddies from killing his family. He was going around the country hunting everyone who was related to him, because he hadn't seen them since he was little. He was furious with them.

After that finished we went to bed. We pushed our
bags right up against the door of the room we slept in. None of our uncle's friends came to look after the plants that night. The bags wouldn't have stopped them, but they would have given us some warning.

***

So that is the day when this story begins. A day like many before it but not the ones that followed.

When I turn eighteen I'm not going to have a big party. After all, it is just the same as any other birthday really. I don't know what I'll do. Maybe I will try to find the place that Prince had to make a model of, somewhere that makes me happy. That would be worth finding.