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Authors: Alex Wheatle

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BOOK: Brenton Brown
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Studying Brenton, Phillip couldn’t find a hint of a juvenile grin or any evidence that he was playing about. He wanted to be honest in his reply. ‘Yes, we kiss at times. Again, to show our affection for each other. That’s what happens when you’re in a loving relationship.’

‘Have you sucked her tits? Did you put your finger up her pussy? It’s the middle one, right? Have you fucked her?’

Almost choking on his coffee, Phillip cleared his throat. ‘I don’t think that’s appropriate, Brenton.’

‘What does appropriate mean?’

Opening his eyes and shaking his head to rid his mind of the memories, Brenton heard the sweet tones of Sugar Minott’s
Show Me That You Love Me Girl.
He climbed out of bed, switched off the mini-stereo and lay back down once more. ‘What a fucking tosspot,’ he chuckled.

HER THREE-INCH HEELS ECHOING
off the spiral stone steps that led from the council chamber, Juliet sighed, glad that the
Children
and Young People’s services committee meeting was over. She had suggested to high-ranking social workers, youth leaders and others in attendance that young people who had left social services care at the age of eighteen should have additional help from the council to help them adapt to life on their own. Too many young people who had left care had ended up in prison, on drugs or in mental institutions, Juliet had added, and it’s the council’s duty to halt that trend. She received warm applause and nods of agreement but others had asked how much funding would be required to set up a network mentor scheme to help vulnerable young adults. No matter how good the idea, Juliet thought, it would always come down to money. The London Borough of Lambeth couldn’t afford such great initiatives, Juliet frowned again, but they could spare the odd hundred grand a year to pay the chief executive.

‘Mrs Hylton! Mrs Hylton!’ somebody shouted above her.

Juliet stopped at the foot of the stairs and saw Councillor Reynolds hurrying down the steps towards her. Reynolds was wearing an Italian-made suit and Juliet could almost see her reflection in his black shoes. His blood-red tie was nearly choking him and she recoiled ever so slightly at the smell of his P Diddy aftershave. God forbid he ever makes it to Prime Minister, she thought to herself. She half-smiled a greeting.

‘Have you heard?’ Reynolds asked in a low voice, his eyes shifting here and there as if he was passing on state secrets.

‘Heard what?’

‘Mrs Crowey, our dear Member of Parliament.’

‘What about her?’ Juliet asked, not liking the way Mr
Reynolds
always talked to her breasts. But she chose not to rebuke him because he was short.

‘She’s standing down at the next election.’

‘She is?’

‘Yes, she’s just made a statement. Now she can fuck off to the shires where her heart really belongs and campaign for tally-ho riders and mad dogs to rip up foxes again.’

Juliet didn’t laugh at Mr Reynolds’ attempt at humour. Instead, remembering she had a lunch appointment to make, she set off walking at a brisk pace along a corridor towards the Town Hall reception. Mr Reynolds paused for a moment, appreciating Juliet’s elegant stride. He soon caught up with her. ‘Let me guess, she said she wanted to spend more time with her family,’ Juliet remarked.

‘That’s a laugh,’ Mr Reynolds chuckled. ‘Everyone knows her old man is screwing away from home and her daughter hates her.’

‘That’s a bit harsh, Tom.’

‘It’s true though. Remember last year when her daughter turned up to her surgery meeting?’

Juliet tried to suppress a smile.

‘She sat opposite her mother and said her problem was she couldn’t remember what her mother looked like. Soooo
embarrassing
. That taught her to stop appearing on Sky News all the time reviewing right-wing newspapers and making an arse of herself on
Question Time.’

‘I for one wish her well,’ Juliet replied, wondering why Tom always tried to talk like a teenager when he was with her. He’s
thirty-two for God’s sake, she thought. Act like it! ‘She served her constituents for a long time,’ she added.

‘You sound like our all-great and powerful leader, Juliet. That’s what his official line will say. His scriptwriters are probably working on it now. They won’t say she was a pain in the backside to the Labour Party and opposed the government every chance she had, the old crow.’

‘They’re not going to say that, are they? And I’m sure he can write his own political eulogies, Tom.’

‘Can he? He doesn’t even sign Christmas cards any more without consulting the Spin Boy Three. God, Juliet, you’re beginning to sound like them. You’ll go far. You just got to work on that smile of yours.’

Juliet’s face broke out into a grin and then she laughed out loud. ‘Oh Lord! Lick me if I talk like them again.’ She
immediately
regretted saying her last sentence.

Tom deliberated for a short second, thinking of something that gave him great pleasure and then he pulled on Juliet’s left arm. He stopped walking and faced her, admiring her beauty for a moment before adopting his serious face once more. ‘We all want you to go for it,’ he said. ‘It’ll be sooo cool. You’ve got a lot of support in the Town Hall, the local rank and file membership and beyond. And you sent Breanna to a normal comprehensive! You’ll walk it. First black Member of Parliament representing the Brixton area? The media will love it. Well, not all the media but the
Guardian and Independent
will be coming over all sweaty and turned on at the thought of it.’

‘Tom!’

‘I can see the 1981 riot footage on Sky News now,’ Tom went on, ignoring Juliet’s disapproval. ‘You’ll have features in
The Sunday Times
magazine about your memories of the Brixton riots and how you wanted to make a difference for the young and marginalised in the area. And you are better looking than
that, yes sir, yes, three bags full sir, do anything to get a cabinet job bitch MP from east London, even if it pisses off ninety-nine per cent of her constituents. How do you say her name? Shluna Keane? A right bitch. You won’t be as media-slutty as that
patronising
cow in north London either. Damn! That woman will turn up on
Big Brother
soon. They should put her out to grass.’

‘That’s below the belt, Tom.’

Not hearing Juliet or wanting to hear her, Tom kept up his flow. ‘When you’re on the scene the media will lose interest in all of those so-called black women MPs. They’re going to love you though. You’re the real deal. And because of that, even though our great and powerful leader hates working-class people like you and me, he’ll have to give you a decent job. Who knows? Within a few years you might be Secretary to the Treasury or something? After that Home Secretary. You’ll have to play your cards right though, work on that smile. Also that sad look needs polishing for when you’re talking about police pay and when social services neglect another murdered child that was on their list.’

‘Tom, can you stop planning my political life for a second.’

‘And later on Prime Minister!’ Tom continued. ‘First Labour woman Prime Minister. And you’re black so you might make it onto
Time
magazine.’

‘Maybe you should make the Spin Boy Three the Spin Boy Four,’ replied Juliet, going through a doorway that led to the lobby of the Town Hall. ‘You definitely got the imagination to be a spin doctor. I don’t even know if I want to be an MP. I’ll have to talk it through with my family.’

‘Knowing Clayton he’ll support you all the way. He’ll be so proud.’

Yes he would be, Juliet thought. Too bloody proud.

‘Where’re you going to lunch?’ Tom asked. ‘We need to talk about strategy. By the way, my offer still remains.’

Juliet remembered why Tom spoke like he did to her. He
really didn’t have any other black friends apart from her and maybe he thought that you have to sound hip if you were talking to a black mate. He knew black people alright, but not to visit or to go out for a drink with, or to have lunch with. He only knew the black people who made up his particular ward and they only ever complained to him about their high council taxes, damp walls, blocked toilets, the queue at the post office and wild dogs crapping on their streets. They also whispered about his lack of height.

‘What offer, Tom?’

‘My offer to be your campaign manager. It’ll be sooo cool working together.’

‘Campaign manager?’ He must be out of his crazy fucking mind if he thinks he’s working as my campaign manager, she thought. ‘That’s a long way off, Tom. Election isn’t for another two or three years. And like I said I haven’t even made up my mind if I should run for it.’

‘But you still have to prepare and have a strategy in case you do,’ argued Tom, stepping ahead of Juliet to open the door for her. ‘Trust me, the starting gun has been fired already and all kinds of ambitious Labourites will be sniffing around, especially those poshed-up bastards from the Islington set. Don’t want one of those smiley bastards parachuted in with their Chelsea scarves, their Islington dinner invites and body language experts. This is one of the safest Labour seats in the country and you have to make sure you get it. And we don’t want someone like Crowey, who is a Tory grandee in disguise.’

‘Thanks for your support, Tom, but I can’t strategise this lunchtime because I’m meeting a friend.’

‘Another colleague?’

‘No, Tom, just a friend.’

‘Anyone I know?’

‘No, Tom.’

‘OK, enjoy your lunch then,’ Tom said, the tone of his voice disappointed. ‘We’ll do lunch soon, yeah? We’ll strategise then.’

‘OK, Tom, maybe when I haven’t got so much on.’

‘Cool.’

Tom watched Juliet walk down the steps of the Town Hall before disappearing inside. Making her way along Brixton High Street, Juliet felt a harsh breeze slap across her cheeks. She
tightened
the belt of her coat and made a mental note to buy Breanna a birthday card. She heard an argument coming from the
newsagent’s
and the cheap noodle restaurant she passed was as busy as ever. Someone was selling international calling cards outside Red Records and some Christian guy was sermonising outside Brixton underground with a loudspeaker. A normal Brixton day, Juliet said to herself.

Opposite the tube station was a walkway that led to the SW9 bar. Juliet checked her watch – twenty past one. She took a deep breath and went inside. Slouched on a sofa with too many cushions and nursing a strong coffee was Tessa, Juliet’s friend. She raised her hand on seeing Juliet. ‘Jules! Over here! What’s a matter with you? You blind?’

Juliet smiled and took a chair opposite Tessa. ‘And you’re
late,
’ Tessa added.

‘Sorry, Tess, meeting ran a bit late.’

‘So what’s this all about then?’ asked Tessa, flicking her auburn hair out of her eyes. ‘You only saw me yesterday at your mum’s funeral?’

‘Oh and how are you too,’ snapped Juliet, glancing over the menu.

‘Excuse me for asking! You are touchy today. I usually get
summoned
by you every three months or so. So what is it? The mayor tripped over his robes? Lambeth can no longer afford the free sugar in the Town Hall canteen? Someone dumped a truckload of parking tickets in your office? Clayton still not adventurous enough for you?’

‘Tess!’

A young Mediterranean waiter came over and asked the women for their order.

‘I’ll have the lamb burger, salad and fries,’ said Juliet. ‘And a glass of cranberry juice, please.’

‘I’ll have the quarter pounder and fries,’ ordered Tessa. ‘And another coffee. Don’t make it as frothy as the last one. Thanks.’

Scribbling down the order, the waiter moved away and Tessa took a peek at his behind. ‘Then what is it?’ she asked again.

‘Why do you think there is an
it?
Can’t I want to see you just to catch up? Didn’t really have a chance to chat yesterday because of the other guests.’

‘Oh stop giving me the twaddle, Juliet,’ Tessa sniped. ‘When I left last night I could see you were stressed out about something. And it had nothing to do with your mum dying. You have mourned for that already.’

‘Not sure if I have,’ replied Juliet staring into space. ‘It was quite something watching her coffin being lowered into the ground.’

‘Yes it was,’ nodded Tessa.

‘How’s the kids?’ asked Juliet.

‘Niall’s decided to stay on to the sixth form and I’ve renamed Candice Miss Glamorous. She’s still only twelve but she wants to dress like she’s eighteen with all the make-up and stuff. You know what I mean? They both miss their dad but they’ll get used to it. He was supposed to come last Friday evening for them but did he? So fucking unreliable he is.’

‘I had the same trouble with Breanna and the make-up,’ said Juliet. ‘They’re all the same. So much pressure on young girls to look adult these days. It isn’t any surprise when you see pop videos. The divorce must be shit for your kids though.’

‘You’re right about that,’ nodded Tessa. ‘But they seem to be coping. They would cope better if their skint-arse dad would
turn up when he says so. He was probably fucking that new young girl of his.
Tramp!
No time for his kids anymore.’

The waiter returned with a coffee for Tessa and a cranberry juice for Juliet. Tessa inspected the coffee. ‘That’s a bit better,’ she smiled. The waiter returned the smile.

‘How is my goddaughter Breanna?’ asked Tessa.

‘She’s doing really well at her accountants’ place. Did I tell you she started off as an intern and after six months they decided to give her a job?’

‘Yes, you did. You kept going on about it like she became the US President or something. What have you got planned for her birthday?’

‘A car.’

‘A car! When I reached twenty-one all I got was a gold-plated necklace from East Street market and a bottle of Pink Lady from my nan. You spoil her too much, Jules.’

‘You’re only twenty-one once.’

‘Have you told Brenton you’re buying her a car?’

‘No. I don’t have to tell Brenton everything we’re doing for Breanna. Clayton is picking the car up tomorrow. He’s sorting everything out, insurance and tax.’ Juliet paused and sipped her cranberry juice. She stared at the floor and for just a short second her expression revealed a deep anxiety.

‘So that’s
it
,’ guessed Tessa. ‘Brenton! I noticed you two going outside to the garden for a chat. I thought to myself, what’s a matter with them two? It was freezing out there.’

‘We needed some privacy.’

‘Then why didn’t you go upstairs?’

Juliet sipped her cranberry juice again. She met Tessa’s eyes and there was a knowing pause. ‘What is it, Jules?’

Juliet paused for a moment, taking in a long breath. ‘He wants Breanna to know he’s her father.’

‘You told him no, right?’

‘Yes, but …’

‘There ain’t no buts, Jules. It’s a no-no with two big Ns. You can’t ever let Breanna know.’

BOOK: Brenton Brown
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