Face (15 page)

‘Who's that knocking on my door?' he asked. ‘Identify yourself, parent.'

There was no reply.

‘Who's there? Who's knock, knock, knocking?'

He opened the door to find no one there. He looked to the left and then to the right and found no one. Just as he was turning back into his room, dismissing it as an uncharacteristic joke, he looked down. There he saw the trainers he had nagged his parents for. A pair of trainers that cost £100. He picked them up and kissed them.

‘Cor, thanks, Mom, thanks, Dad. They're brilliant, brilliant. These are the business, my dancing shoes, man.'

At nine thirty Martin was fully dressed and ready to go. As he looked in the mirror admiring his clothes,
he remembered the last time he went to Dancemania and how he looked then. The more he did so, the more anxious he became.
Can I really do this?
he thought. Then the positive, honest voice of reason spoke to him.
You want to go, so let nothing stop you, just stay out of trouble. Don't accept any baddies from anyone and don't worry about people looking
. He jumped up and looked in the mirror again.
You're the captain. Celebrate.

This time he spoke out loud. ‘OK, number one, let's go for it.'

When he left the house he avoided his parents. He didn't want them to transfer their fears to him. Instead he shouted at the front door, ‘I'm off, Mom, Dad. I won't be back too late. Bye. And thanks for the trainers, you're the best.'

At the door of Dancemania, Martin saw the two bouncers he had seen there before. He was now sure they were identical twins: they looked the same, dressed the same, and both gave him a friendly nod of the head. Once he was in the club, that sense of adventure he had had on his first visit returned. No one seemed to be concerned about Martin's face.

When he got to the dance floor there was room for nodding heads and bending knees only. The house was packed, with no gymnastics possible. The bass lines were even deeper than before. The frequency of the bass vibrated in the pit of his stomach. He hated
the cramped conditions but he loved the music.

The place was so packed that as people moved around they would have to squeeze past others. On a couple of occasions people looked twice as they squeezed past Martin. But then a girl squeezed past and did not take her eyes off him. He felt very uncomfortable. He looked down but he could still feel her eyes on him. He moved to the music, turning away at the same time as he tried to cover his awkwardness. She turned with him.

He felt a tap on his shoulder and a voice shouted above the music. ‘Martin, hey, Martin. Do you remember me? Marica, from the Jamaican sistas. How ya doing, guy?'

Martin glanced up. As soon as he allowed himself to look her in the face he recognised her. ‘Yeah, I remember you. I'm OK. Yeah, I'm cool.'

‘Where's Natalie and your friends?'

‘They don't really like this scene, they're more into daytime activities. Mark's the leader of a new gang, they're called The White Knights. They spend most of their time hating everyone and trying to get excluded from school. What a gang name – he's got a lot to learn. Everyone makes mistakes but he should know better. He's missing all the fun. I see Matthew sometimes. Natalie wants to be a famous film star, she's on the telly.'

‘So, you're on your own?'

‘Yeah.'

‘Come and see Teen and Naz. They're over there, in our corner.'

Over in their corner it was less crowded and there was more room to manoeuvre. The girls said that they really liked Natalie but they were surprised that they hadn't met her again. Teen handed Martin a half-full bottle of beer.

‘No thanks,' Martin said. ‘I'm trying to be a good boy.'

‘So what, you still doing those bad dance moves?' she said jokingly.

‘When I can,' he replied.

Naz joined in. ‘After that night, everyone was talking about you. So are you gonna jump up and rock the house tonight?'

‘No,' Martin replied smiling with embarrassment. ‘I'm just taking it easy tonight.'

‘We read about you in the
Echo
, ' Marica said. ‘It was bad news, man, but we know you're cool. So just stay cool, all right, brother?'

‘Yeah, I'm all right,' Martin replied, now smiling like everyone else around him.

For the next hour they danced in their limited way in their little corner. In this better lit part of the club, many people recognised Martin from his last visit and he soon got used to the compliments that people were still paying him.

Just before he was ready to leave, one boy came up to him and said, ‘I heard about what happened to you. Just stay strong – it's nice to see you here.'

When he told Marica, Teen and Naz he was leaving, they walked outside with him. All four danced as they walked. ‘Hey, I heard you were a West Ham supporter,' Naz said as they got outside where they could hear themselves more easily.

‘Yeah,' Martin replied.

‘When was the last time you saw them play?'

‘I haven't been to a match for ages but I've seen them on TV.'

‘When there's a good match on, come with us. We go all the time, no one messes with us.'

‘OK.'

‘And don't forget, man,' Marica interrupted, ‘we down here all the time, this is the place. The drug heads have been removed and those that dealt in violence have gone in silence. We the queens here, so come again and do some of those bad, funky, fitness moves on the dance floor. OK?'

‘OK,' Martin said. ‘Hey, is your school doing the gymnastics competition next week?'

They all shook their heads.

‘What's going down?' Teen asked.

‘Well, I'm the captain of my school team. We're in the competition next Saturday at Newham Leisure Centre. Come down and watch us,' he said, brimming
with excitement.

‘We may do that,' Marica replied, looking at the other two, who nodded in agreement.

Martin made his way home deeply inhaling the late night car fumes which were like fresh air after the stuffiness of the club.

That night Martin had a dream. He was the DJ in his own club. It was as if the accident had never happened. Martin was outside himself, watching himself. He had no scars or skin grafts. Natalie, Matthew, Mark and the Jamaican sistas were in the house and he was spinning the discs. There were hundreds dancing in the club but all the heat and smoke had gone. The people gathered in a circle around his turntables as if worshipping a new god. They bowed their heads and rocked their bodies to the beats he generated. When he shouted, ‘
Wave your hands in the air
,
wave them like you just don't care
,' they all waved their hands in the air. When he said,
‘Jump to the rhythm,'
they all jumped to the rhythm. It was his party. Then he picked up the microphone and started rapping to a beat and the house went crazy. The crowd shouted, ‘
More, More, More.'
Martin surveyed his constituents, and he knew the grooves were good. Natalie came up to him and whispered in his ear, ‘
Martin, you are beautiful.'

Martin, you are beautiful. Martin, you are beautiful. Martin, you are beautiful.

Martin woke up with the phrase still reverberating in his mind. He shook his head as if to rid himself of it but it stayed with him.

Martin, you are beautiful. Martin, you are beautiful.

For a moment he thought the whole thing could be a dream – the crash, everything. The morning sun was shining through the curtains. He slowly got out of bed. He couldn't feel his face. He walked over to the mirror half believing that he might find himself looking as he did before the dream, the crash or whatever might have happened. But it was not so. He wandered downstairs, poured himself a drink of water and went and sat quietly in the living room. Revisiting the club, and his dream, had brought Natalie back into his thoughts.
Maybe she's just confused and she needs time
, he thought.
But why did she wish me success? What does that mean? You don't need success to go to a club. Maybe she's trying to work out the difference between love and lust, maybe she really wants me but she's testing me out.
The voice in Martin's head drove him to the phone where, for the first time ever, he automatically dialled Natalie's number, without looking at his book.

‘Hello, is Natalie there, please?'

‘Who's calling?' It was Natalie's mother.

‘It's her friend from the drama group.'

‘Could you hold the line one minute, please, I'll see
if she's awake.'

A couple of minutes later, Natalie came on the line.

‘Natalie, it's me, Martin.'

Natalie sounded half asleep and her tone was discouraging. ‘Why are you ringing me so early? What's wrong?'

‘Nothing's wrong. I just want you to know that I'm here waiting for you. Sort yourself out and then it will be like before.'

‘Sort what out?' she asked, sounding a little more awake but puzzled.

‘Just sort yourself out. You can be an actress, you can be successful. I can be a dancer, I can be successful. Doesn't mean that we can't be together. I dreamt about you last night. We were cool. Everyone thinks we suit each other. Those girls were asking for you at Dancemania last night. It was a great night, I missed you.'

‘Stop it, Martin,' Natalie said abruptly. ‘I want to be your friend but just stop taking everything so seriously. Things are changing, people move on.'

‘Do you love me?'

‘Martin, you don't even know what love is.'

‘I know a lot. I know the difference between love and lust.'

‘So, did you love Pat James?' Natalie asked with a hint of bitterness in her voice.

‘Pat James. That was ages ago. And no, I didn't
love her, that was lust.'

‘Why are you ringing me, Martin?'

‘Because I still want to go out with you. I hardly see you anymore. What's up with you? If you don't like my face, just say so.'

There was a moment's silence. Then Natalie spoke. ‘I'm going now. I'll see you in school. We'll talk then. But you must understand, things are different now. My parents are coming, I've got to go. Bye.'

The line went dead but Martin still kept the receiver to his ear for a few seconds. He got back into bed and lay without sleeping until his parents rose.

Once he'd had breakfast and a bath, Martin realised that his dream was just a dream. He was still not sure about Natalie but he chose to push thoughts of her to the back of his mind. The night at Dancemania, however, wasn't a dream. Memories of it cheered him up. He'd had a great night and he couldn't stop telling his parents about it. They were quite concerned.

His mother asked him, ‘Is it safe, Martin?'

‘Of course it's safe, Mom. Look how many of the other clubs have had to close down. Dancemania's been given the all clear.'

‘I read the papers, Martin, those places are dangerous.'

‘No, Mom, not there. Everyone's chilled out, I've never heard of any fighting there.'

‘But how do they treat you, son?' his dad asked.

‘They treat me like a homie.'

His dad raised his voice. ‘I'll have no son of mine being treated like a homie.'

‘What's the problem, Dad? A homie's just a home boy, a boy that lives at home. They just treat me like a home boy, from the hood. That's the neighbourhood, Dad.' Martin added cheekily.

‘Well just remember, son, if you need a hand I'm here for you. You can never tell when those homies or hoodies are going to get out of hand.'

Martin laughed out loud. ‘You two are crazy but I like having crazy parents.'

At lunch time Martin decided to go for a walk in Plashet Park. He walked around the park until he came to a small area where there were swings, climbing frames and roundabouts. One of the roundabouts was empty. He pushed it, jumped on and then sat on the floor of it. He looked up into the sky and watched the clouds as he spun beneath them. Then he closed his eyes. He was tired and for a moment he let his mind drift. The roundabout stopped but he kept his eyes shut until he was disturbed by whispers. He opened his eyes to find that he was surrounded by a group of about ten children, none of them older than eleven.

Some of the children jumped back and screamed. Others shouted abuse: ‘
Ugly man,' ‘You're the bad man,'
‘Dog face.'
The kids shouted to each other,
‘Don't let him touch you, he'll kill you,'
‘
If you look at him for long you'll go blind.'
Some of them picked up twigs and pieces of paper from the ground and threw them at him, shouting, ‘
Get away, bogey man,' ‘Here's you dinner,' ‘You haven't got no Mommy or Daddy.'

There were so many of them. It was happening so quickly that Martin was speechless. He stood up and the kids backed off but they stayed close enough to carry on shouting their nasty words.

He shouted, ‘Go away, will you,' but they got even more noisy and began to follow him. He turned around and ran towards them but they screamed louder and ran off in various directions before regrouping. He tried chasing them a second time and they scattered again. It was useless.
Which one shall I run after?
he thought.
What do I do once I catch one of them?
he thought. He gave up but the children didn't, they trailed behind him again.

Then he heard a woman's far off voice. ‘Get away, you lot! What are you doing? Leave him alone!'

The children all turned around and ran off. Martin didn't look where they went, nor did he hang around to speak to the woman; he was too upset and he didn't want any pity. He just carried on walking home with his head hung low, depressed and disheartened. It was the worst he had felt for ages. After all that he had survived on the streets and at school, it took a group
of ten year olds to send him to an all time low, he thought. He didn't know how to argue with a group of that age. He couldn't fight a group of that age. They seemed to hate him, they thought he was evil, they were purposely cruel. Their images and words stayed with him as he walked home. At the top of Plashet Grove he turned right and began to walk down the High Street. He felt as if everyone's eyes were on him. As Martin walked past East Ham station, he glanced in towards the ticket machines and photo booth. He was so shocked by what he saw that he froze for a moment. A shiver went through his whole body and he clenched his fist in anger. It was Natalie, leaning over the ticket turnstile, kissing a boy. Martin looked hard, making sure that he wasn't mistaken. But it was no mistake. It was Natalie. As he looked closer, he recognised the boy. His eyes were closed. Martin could see his face, which was leaning sidewards over Natalie's shoulder. It was the boy she was dancing with in the commercial. Then Martin remembered that they went to the same drama school, that they had been in the same commercial twice. It all fell into place.
He too has cute Mediterranean looks
, Martin thought.
He too has tanned silky skin and long, shiny bouncy hair.