Michael Dawes

CLASS OF ’13

Can you ever escape your past?

1

Monday, 5th September

Uma

I don’t know if you know Bristol? It’s a crazy, mixed-up sort of place, but I like it. Anyway, that’s where I live, in a flat, a basement one. I’ve been here since I left Mum’s four years ago. She’s on her own, so she was a bit sad when I moved out, but then, I had to sometime. It don’t look that great from the outside, like, the paint’s peeling off the wall when you walk down the steps to the front door, that sort of thing.

I moved in with Izzy, a girl I knew. She was fun, and I liked it when we did things together; we had lots of laughs. Then she got fired from her job for nicking stuff and she had to move out. Silly cow.

Then, at the end of July, Jay turned up. She’d seen my ad online and got onto it straight away, so I was dead lucky. Her proper name’s Jayna, Jayna Williams, but she calls herself Jay. I don’t know why, unless she can’t be bothered with the whole word. I think Jayna’s a nice name. She said she’d just split up from her latest boyfriend, Tony, and when I asked her why, she didn’t want to talk about it. The way she said it, though, made me think she goes through boyfriends quite regular.

Jay’s really up for it, if you know what I mean — larger than life and loud with it. She says I’m just as bad, so that’s probably why we row about things. She says all my clothes are shit and I say all hers look like they’ve had some sort of accident with a sewing machine.

There’s always clearing up to do, and it don’t help when Jay keeps having parties. When she moved in, she said did I mind about her having them, and I said no, as long as I was invited. I don’t know what it is about her parties. Word gets round and people come from out of the woodwork, and they’re like beings from another planet.

She’s got one going tonight, when I get home from work. She sees me and stumbles over. She wants a light, I think. There’s bottles everywhere and music blasting away, and you can’t hear yourself.

‘Who’s that girl?’ I shout.

‘Which one?’

‘The one you were with. Over there. The one with them stupid things in her ears.’

‘Oh, her? That’s Zed.’

I look again. She’s got spiky hair, jet black, like it’s dyed, and black all round her eyes. And she’s like, skinny as a rake.

Jay’s talked about Zed before. How can someone be called ‘Zed’? She knows one of Jay’s friends, I think she said. I can’t remember much else she said about her, but she looks the sort of girl you wouldn’t want to mess with.

I decide to tell Jay what I’ve done about Clive, but she says she don’t know who I’m talking about.

‘I told you, didn’t I?’ I say. ‘He’s the one that saved me from those morons after you walked off at the funfair. The other week. He wanted me to go and buy something in a shop.’

What happened was this: Jay’d said we should go the fair on the Downs, said it’d be fun. I’d been like, ‘What? Up there?’

And she’d been like, ‘Yeah, why not?’

And I’d been like, ‘It’ll be full of screaming kids.' At twenty-four I hadn’t fancied that.

And she’d been like, ‘No, it won’t.’

So, we’d gone up there. We walked around, seeing what was what, and after about half an hour we ended up in front of the Waltzer ride.

‘D’you want to go on there, then?’ I said.

‘No, that thing makes me throw up,’ she said, sticking out her tongue and making a stupid face.

We just stood there for a bit and Jay lit a joint, and I looked to see if anyone was watching. There were some blokes staring, and I nudged Jay to take a look.

‘Fuck 'em,’ she said, loud so they could hear. ‘They’re the weirdos, not us.'

Jay walked off, saying she’d seen her friend Malc, and I was left there on my own, like a right muppet. One of the blokes came over and started trying to chat me up. Then someone else appeared, and this was Clive, and he saw the bloke off.

You couldn’t miss Clive ’cause he was tall with enormous great muscles, a tattoo of a lion on his neck, a T-shirt that said ‘BS2’ on the front, army style combat trousers, vicious boots and a red baseball cap on the wrong way round. And I reckoned I could see the butt of a knife sticking out of one of his side pockets.

Clive said he knew the bloke and he was bad news and a right pillock. Then he bought me a drink from what looked like a converted caravan and asked me if I wanted some easy money.

He said I just had to go and buy something in a shop and get it delivered.

I told him to eff off, but he said it’d be worth fifty quid, and I was like, ‘Yeah, well, I’ll think about it.’

He said he had a party at his place that night and I should come, and he gave me his number and his address. He’d had a car parked up there on the Downs and he’d driven me back here, back home. I reckon he fancied me.

Now Jay’s looking at me like I’m off my head. ‘Sounds fucking stupid,’ she says. ‘You doin’ it?’

‘Yeah, I am, but it was odd ’cause I called him from work today and he said he didn’t want me to do it after all. I was like, “Why not?” and he was like, “Never you mind” and I was like, “I need the fucking money” and he was like, “Tough” and I effed and blinded some more and he was like, “Well, okay then.” He said he’d pay me fifty quid to go and I said a hundred and we agreed seventy-five.’

Mum’s always saying I swear too much, and I tell her it’s what I heard all the time from the other girls at school so what does she expect?

Jay don’t look that bothered and hands me what she’s smoking. Knowing her, it could be anything. I try it. It’s foul. I give it her back and before I can say anything else, some bloke’s dragged her away.

2

Tuesday, 6th September

Uma

I’m going to go up to that antiques shop today, so I walk down to the Centre and get a number eight bus. I know the shop’s called ‘Bridge Antiques’ ’cause Clive told me, and he told me where it was, but that didn’t mean much to me. Mostly ’cause I’ve never been to Clifton before; had no reason to, really. I’ve heard people talk about it, like it was some upper-class, trendy place, you know, all outdoor cafés and yoga classes — not like where I live.

I get off the bus at the wrong stop and have to walk back along Clifton Down Road (or whatever it’s called), turn right, then left, I think it is, until I see it. There’s a really posh sign outside, with a colour picture of the suspension bridge on it.

When I get there though, the front window’s all boarded up. I try the door, and it opens all right, and there’s a funny tinkly sound, like in the old films. They must be open ’cause there’s a young bloke inside with another woman, but the place is a right mess.

‘Fuck. What’s all this?’ I say, looking around, and then down at the floor, in case I’m about to step in something really gross.

The woman starts to leave. She’s dressed up to the nines, like she’s going to the opera or something. She has a good look at me on her way out, nose in the air. Who does she think she is? The bloke asks her something, but she ignores him. What a bitch.

I walk in, stepping careful-like. ‘You got glass on the floor,’ I say to the bloke.

‘Oh, sorry, I thought I’d swept it all up.’

‘Not all of it, you haven’t. What happened?’

‘A brick through the window. Last night. I’ve just finished boarding it up.’

‘They nick anything?’

‘No, they didn’t break in, thank goodness.’

I ask him who he is and he says he’s Miles Johnson and he owns the place. I look at him. He’s not what I’d been expecting at all, much younger.

‘Are you looking for something in particular?’ he says.

For a moment, I don’t know what to say. I haven’t got a clue what I’m looking for and don’t know nothing about antiques.

‘Well, yeah. Something for the flat. Something big.’

‘Big,’ he repeats.

‘And nice.’

‘Aah, nice.’

‘Er, why are you looking at me like that?’ I ask him. I can see he’s staring at me and I don’t know why. Well, maybe I do. It’s because of how I look. I often get that. Or maybe he don’t like my clothes, not smart enough. Well, I’m only wearing what I like wearing, and if he don’t like it, tough.

‘Am I?’

‘Yeah, you are.’

He says sorry and shows me some weird sort of contraption, with things sticking out everywhere.

‘What on earth’s that?’

‘An astrolabe. Sixty-nine pounds.’

Sixty-nine pounds for that piece of crap? He’s got to be joking. ‘I ain’t got that sort of money,’ I tell him.

He seems put out. ‘Oh, well, let me see.’ He turns and walks off. He comes back, holding a big, tall thing.

‘Yes, I have this coat and hat stand here.’

‘Oh, yeah. How much?’

‘I could let you have it for twenty pounds, I think.’

‘Yeah, all right. But I need it delivered. I mean, I can’t take it on the bus, can I?’

‘No, I suppose it would be tricky.’

‘And I’ve got long nails, see?’ I show him my nails.

‘Yes, they are long. Let me think, I could drop it off to you this evening, if that’s all right?’

I give him my sweetest smile. ‘Yeah, that’s all right.’

‘If you could let me have your name and address?’

‘Yeah, it’s Uma, Uma Daniels. I’ll write the address down for you.’

I take a pencil and write on a notepad on a nearby table. I give him the notepad. He looks at it for a minute.

‘It’s in St. Paul’s,’ I say.

‘Oh, yes, I know.’

I reckon when he says that, he says it as if it’s, like, on the other side of the world.

I give him the money. ‘Twenty quid, then. Bring it round this evening, but I’m working till eight. So, how about eight thirty?’

‘Yes, half past eight. I’ll see you then.’

He goes to put the money in the till, and while he’s doing that, I see what looks like a dagger with a fancy handle on a shelf nearby. I take it and put it in my shoulder bag. He don’t see me.

I smile at him after he’s finished with the till, and sort of saunter out, watching out for any bits of glass. I turn my head and give him an over-the-shoulder look, the kind you see models do. The doorbell goes off with that bloody stupid tinkle again.

He seems nice enough, upper class, like, and polite with it, not like most of the lads I meet as a rule. I bet he’s not used to having bricks through his window, having to clear up and everything. I think he was looking at my legs. I wonder if he fancies me?

I walk down to the bus stop, the proper one this time. Well, I’ve done what Clive wanted. Got this bloke to come down to the flat. I’ve done even better than that, even, nicked that dagger thing with the funny handle. Worth thirty quid, I reckon.

I get off the bus at College Green and walk across the road to meet Clive, like we said. College Green’s a big space right next to the Centre, and there’s always people chilling out there. Clive probably chose it so he don’t look suspicious. I pick him out sitting on the grass. He gets up and walks towards me.

‘Well?’ he says.

‘Yeah,’ I tell him. ‘Found it all right. “Bridge Antiques”, like you said. Front window got smashed in last night.’

‘Did it?’

‘Yeah. The bloke was clearing up when I got there.’

‘They look at you strange up there?’

‘Why?’

‘You know.’

‘Yeah, a bit.’

‘Get something?’

‘Yeah, coat stand.’

‘What?’

‘Fucking coat stand.’

‘How much?’

‘Forty. So you owe me hundred and fifteen. Forty, and seventy-five for going.’

‘Yeah, right. When’s he bringing it?’

‘Tonight, when I get back from work. Eight thirty.’ Then I think to ask him, ‘Why d’you change your mind about me going, on the phone, like?’

‘None of your business.’

‘Yeah, it fucking is.’

‘Look, you don’t say nothin’ about all this, right?’

I walk back, past the Hippodrome, the big theatre place in the Centre, and along to get a bus to Stokes Croft. I can walk home from there. Stokes Croft’s a special place, not far from the Centre, with, like, its own atmosphere. It’s famous for its Banksy murals, so you get my drift, and if you wanted to get all the graffiti off its railway station, Montpelier, you’d need a bloody great lorryload of remover.

When I get off the bus, I see Jay in the distance. She’s sitting at an outdoor table on a street corner. She’s dressed in her usual I-don’t-give-a-shit-what-people-think clothes, and there’s a young lad with her, black hair, messy. I call out, and before I can get a proper look at him, he gets up and leaves, like he don’t want to be seen. It’s a grotty-looking place, with a dirty-looking awning, graffiti on the walls and a blue elephant painted on the front window. The chair where the lad was sitting’s got big holes in the webbing, like the back’s about to give in.

I go up to her. ‘Jay, what you doing here?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Not working?’

‘Day off.’

‘What’s with that young one?’

‘Who?’

‘The one you were with, just now.’

‘Nothing.’ She gets out a cigarette and lights it.

‘Why’d he run off?’

‘He didn’t.’

‘Did. I saw him.’

‘Mind your own fucking business.’ She walks away.

I’m worried. Jay likes to play things close to her chest, but this is different.

3

Tuesday, 6th September

Miles

It’s just gone eight o’clock, so I’m loading the coat stand for Miss Daniels into the van; it just about goes in. While I’m doing it, I’m wondering why she came all the way up to the shop without even knowing what it was she wanted to buy – and from St. Paul’s as well. Very peculiar.

The road I want is off City Road, according to my internet search. I find it quite easily and, driving along, I can’t help noticing a vibrant mural, taking up the entire side of a house. It really sticks out. It’s of a ship, with the word ‘MIGRATION’ written in large letters above it, and a Jamaican flag above that. I slow down to take a better look. Of course, Mum told me that this was the part of Bristol where lots of migrants, predominantly from Jamaica, came in the 1950s. On the bow of the ship there are the words ‘EMPIRE WINDRUSH’.

It takes me a couple of attempts to find her road, and I arrive ten minutes late. The address she gave me is for a basement flat, which, I suspect, is going to be a problem.

It is. It’s difficult to negotiate the steep concrete steps carrying the coat stand, especially with metal railings on one side and a brick wall on the other, but I just about manage it. I push the doorbell.

‘Miss Daniels?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Miles Johnson from Bridge Antiques. You came in this morning. I’ve brought the – ’

‘Oh, yeah,’ she interrupts.

‘The coat stand. Can I come in?’

I walk into a room full of scattered furniture and various other items. ‘Er… where would you like it?’ I ask.

‘Anywhere.’

‘How about here?’ I say, and I set it just inside the door.

‘Yeah. Fine. Jay’ll be wowed when she sees it.’

‘Jay?’

‘Yeah. She’s the girl I share with,’ she says. ‘She’s really cool.’

‘Oh, I see.’

‘Yeah, she works in a beauty shop. Well, she does nails, at any rate. Look, I showed you before, didn’t I?’

She shows me her nails again.

‘Yes, they’re very nice.’

‘She didn’t charge me, neither. Mind, she did them here, not at the shop. I wanted this one orange, but Jay said it should be jet black. So, we ended up with them all mixed up. What do you think?’ she says, fluttering her fingers up and down.

‘Yes, black with all those other colours looks very nice.’

‘And I thought I should have orange lipstick and all, but she didn’t think so.’

‘No.’

‘You don’t think I’d look good with orange?’

‘Well, no, orange could look nice.’

‘But not with my skin colour?’

‘No, I didn’t mean that,’ I say, feeling heat rising in my cheeks.

She looks at me as though she expects me to say something more exciting.

I’m just standing there, looking around, not quite knowing what to do next. I could leave, but that seems a bit abrupt, so I say, ‘Miss Daniels, are you in the middle of eating?’

As soon as I do, I’m kicking myself for saying it.