Junk - Melvin Burgess [78]
‘Rob did.’
‘I thought so.’
‘Why didn’t you ask him, instead of hitching all the way back?’
‘I don’t know.’ Then he pulled a face and told me I wasn’t to get at him; how did I think he felt about it? I got on with the tea. We drank our tea sitting on chairs at opposite ends of the table and he started again. He said it didn’t matter anyway, because he hadn’t really intended giving up, he only went along with it because the rest of us were so keen and he’d cleared off because he didn’t want to tempt us.
‘I like what I’m doing, why should I want to give up?’ he said.
‘And what happens when you turn blue, like Lily did?’
Tar gave me a grin and said, ‘Live fast, die young, you know, Gems…’
‘You don’t really think like that,’ I said.
‘You don’t know anything about it when you’re dead,’ he said.
‘Yeah. But no more junk for deadies…’ I teased.
It was quiet for a bit and then Tar got up to put some music on and he started talking… how he felt better now, stronger; how he was going to have another crack in a week or so; he would have been all right but he knew Rob had some so it was going to fail anyway, but now it was different because he knew what he was up against…
I sat there and I watched him. I wasn’t even listening really. I was thinking about how much better he’d been these past few years. I’d really thought that, that he was better. But suddenly I really wanted the old Tar back. I wanted my Tar back.
I started to cry. I put my head in my hands. I said, ‘You never even do anything to that sodding dandelion any more,’ and I tried to squeeze back my tears.
Tar came and put his arms around me. ‘I didn’t mean it, Gems… I was just saying that. I want to live and stay with you.’
I just wept.
‘Dandelion,’ he said.
I turned and buried my head against his stomach.
‘Dandelion,’ he said. ‘Dandelion, dandelion, dandelion.’
‘I love you,’ I said. And I bloody meant it too.
‘I’ve been waiting for you to say that all these years,’ said Tar in a quiet voice. He stroked my face. I looked up at him. ‘I love you too,’ he said. ‘I love you too. Dandelion.’
‘Dandelion, dandelion, Tar.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
Skolly
It used to be a nice area round here. You look at the houses. Big stone things, Victorian, Georgian, some of ‘em. This must have been a posh part of town, believe it or not. Even I can remember when I was growing up, there was some posh money about. And those of us who didn’t have it, you’ll’ve heard this before, but it’s true, we were all in it together. There was a sense of community.
You just have to make the most of it, but I feel sorry for some people. There’s this old lady I know, she must be ninety-odd, she’s lived in St Paul’s all her life. Now look at it – the whole street is black. Reggae booming out all hours. Curry everywhere. Muggings, drugs, prostitution. I mean live and let live, all right, but she remembers the days when all this was a good area. You never even saw a darkie when she was a girl. I drop round there with some chocolate from time to time and let her go on – not often, once she gets going you can’t stop her. But it is interesting.
Of course she makes it hard on herself – never goes out, never talks to the neighbours. You can’t blame her, they probably taught you that darkies ate you when she was a kid. She probably thinks the curry’s full of old dears like her.
On the other hand she was probably a snooty old bag even when she was young.
We had riots a while ago. Blacks, mainly. As usual. My shop got smashed up, would you believe? And you know what they painted on the front?
‘Fat Jew Bastard.’
Me… a Jew? I ask you. I’m so Jewish, I think a bar mitzvah is a sort of biscuit. Fat… all right. Bastard… well, sometimes. But I’m no Jew-boy. Those Rastas are more Jewish than I am. Lost tribe of Israel – some of them believe that, I’ve read it. I’m Bristol-born, Bristol-bred. My dad was, and his dad before him. We go back for years. I admit my great grandfather was Jewish-ish. That’s where the name comes from. I’d have changed it if I was