Being Me Read online

  We get off the bus in the city centre and wait by the fountain.

  It isn’t long before MC Banshee arrives with Cakes. MC Banshee’s boots kick the tarmac, her shoulders roll and her chin jerks around. Even the pigeons get out of her way fast.

  ‘Who’s she?’ MC asks, when she gets to us. She jabs a finger into Mikaela’s chest.

  Mikaela flinches.

  ‘A friend.’

  ‘What’s she doing here?’

  ‘She wants to join.’

  ‘I decide who’s in,’ MC says.

  MC looks at me like she’s deciding how far to push my nose into my skull with her fist. She’s grabbed my jacket and is scrunching it up. It’s starting to throttle me. She’s smaller than me but she says she lifts weights every day and I believe her. I stay calm. She would have hit me already if she was totally mad at me, I reason, so this is for show.

  ‘But you made me Chief Recruiter, didn’t you?’ I remind her, ‘And Head of Research. And Specializer in Perfumes and Jewellery?’

  It’s the way I say it. All sweet and mild. Which is hard while you’re being half-throttled. MC Banshee smiles, remembering. The dimple that sits in the middle of her chin comes up as she smiles. ‘What’s she good for then?’ she says, releasing my jacket.

  ‘She’s sharp,’ I say.

  ‘I like your hair,’ MC says to Mikaela.

  ‘Th – thanks,’ says Mikaela, trying to get her voice as low as possible. ‘Your earring’s nice.’

  I go all air-hostessy. ‘Mikaela, this is MC Banshee, this is Cakes. Together we are the South Henshawe Society of Shoplifters and Pickpockets. MC Banshee, apart from being leader, is also our Specialist in Trainers, Tops and Waterstones Books. Cakes is our Specialist in Gadgets and Edibles.’

  ‘And vanilla slices,’ adds Cakes.

  ‘And vanilla slices,’ I add.

  ‘You got to eat,’ Cakes explains.

  Mikaela looks at me, as if to say, is she really that thick?

  I look back at her with a look that says, yes, she is, so get used to it.

  I continue: ‘Our slogan is “a rob for one is a rob for all!” and we say the slogan every time we go nicking.’

  ‘I say it first,’ says MC.

  ‘Go on then,’ I say.

  A rob for one is a rob for all!’ MC goes, putting her hand out as she speaks.

  We latch hands together and then we say it with her. ‘A rob for one is a rob for all!’

  ‘What does it mean?’ Mikaela whispers to me afterwards.

  MC overhears. ‘It’s like licking blood,’ says MC, ‘or spitting into someone’s mouth. You never been in a gang before?’ MC Banshee eyes narrow, like she might punch Mikaela.

  ‘Course!’ goes Mikaela, scared shitless.

  ‘Then shut the fuck up,’ MC Banshee says. She wallops Mikaela on the shoulder, all friendly again, though she’s no doubt left a bruise.

  Mikaela asks me with her eyes, is MC Banshee a nutter?

  I smile and shrug.

  ‘Where are we doing?’ I ask MC.

  ‘Debenhams,’ she tells us. ‘Mary Poppins here can be the turnstile.’

  ‘What’s one of them?’ asks Mikaela.

  ‘Fuck,’ says Banshee. ‘What have you brought me, Magic?’

  ‘I’ll explain to her on the way,’ I say.

  We walk and I explain to Mikaela what a turnstile is. Basically the turnstile gets it from one person and gives it to another. It’s the easiest job. The lifter takes the stuff, gives it to the turnstile, who gives it to the walker. The walker walks out with it.

  ‘I don’t want to be the turnstile though,’ whispers Mikaela.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I’m black. I’ll stand out.’

  ‘Don’t be daft. Look around. Hundreds of black people.’

  ‘Why don’t the lifters just walk straight out?’

  MC is ear-wigging again. ‘It messes with the cameras and the store detectives, innit,’ she says. ‘Even if we’re caught they ain’t got the right evidence. Now, are you in or are you off home to cuddle your Barbie?’

  ‘What’s everyone else doing?’ Mikaela stalls.

  ‘I’m lifting, so’s Magic,’ says MC. ‘Magic’s a walker, Cake’s a walker. OK? I give to you, Magic gives to you. You swap them. Magic walks with what I lifted, Cakes walks with what Magic lifted. Got it?’

  ‘What if they grab me?’

  ‘Don’t be fuckin soft,’ MC says right in her face.

  It’s how MC explains things. Generally when MC explains things they stay explained.

  ‘You’ve not left the store with nothing. Why would they grab you? Standing in a store aint illegal.’

  MC rolls her eyes at me. We start walking in the direction of the shops. Mikaela nudges into me.

  ‘Dell, is this what you’ve been doing Saturdays? It’s so fucked up. I don’t want to do it. My mum would kill me.’

  ‘Be cool, Mikaela. Nothing’s gonna happen to you.’ I squeeze her hand.

  ‘I don’t want to go to jail,’ she blubs. ‘They’d shave off my hair!’

  ‘Nobody’s going to jail, Mikay. Didn’t you hear, MC? You’re just stood there, doing nothing.’ I’m speaking to her in my calmest voice.

  ‘I won’t make it to jail. Mum’d kill me first!’

  ‘Mikay, get real. You’re in a shop choosing a present for your mum. Anything goes wrong, you don’t even know us, any of us. Understand?’

  I get through this time.

  ‘I don’t know you. I’ve not nicked nothing,’ she repeats.

  With Mikaela chanting this, we catch up with the others.

  MC takes one look at Mikaela and says. ‘No way Mary Poppins’s turnstiling, she’s jelly. She can watch. Me and Cakes will go in by the Station door, Magic, take her through the Starbucks door and up the stairs. We’ll meet in jewellery. Straight lifts.’

  I give Mikaela a crash course in shoplifting on the Debenhams staircase. ‘Right, Mikaela, when we go in there, don’t be swivelling your head like a mad doll, yeah? Just watch out of the corners of your eye.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Store detectives. They’re usually big blokes in jeans. They’ve got short hair and boring jackets, with a bulge where their walkie-talkies are. If you spot anyone watching us, you come up to me and say, “you’ve lost your bus fare”. That means I should put back what I’ve lifted. “Through the keyhole” means there’s someone spying on us and we should give up what we’re trying to lift. Got it?’

  Mikaela is still chanting, ‘I don’t know you, I’ve not nicked nothing,’ but she nods.

  We go into the store and Mikaela follows me around like Little Bo Peep.

  ‘Mikaela, stand here and block me from the camera. Nice. Good.’

  She does what I say quite well. She even manages not to swivel her head too much. She’s still a bit obvious though. The jewellery is quite tricky. I have to shift Mikaela around three times before I get what I want.

  I toy with doing sunglasses. You spin the carousel and keep trying on lots of sunglasses until the shop assistants and the cameras can’t tell whether you’re coming or going. If you arrive with a rubbish pair, you can then swap them for a good pair. The assistant is none the wiser because there’s no gap in the carousel. You take the tag off in the toilets, then walk. Better still, if there’s two of you, hide the sunglasses in the toilets. The other girl goes in, picks them up and walks them. If she gets stopped, she can just say she found them in the toilets, that’s not theft. I could write a book.

  I decide not to though. There’s two blokes who don’t look like they’d wear sunglasses nudging around the carousels close to us. They keep spinning but never try them on. While they are looking at us MC has shown up and is getting busy with Cakes. I wait a bit so all eyes are on me and Mikaela, then I move us two away. I can tell MC understands what I’m doing.

  On the stairs, Mikaela is mumbling, ‘Did you get something?’

  I nod.

 
‘What do we do now?’ she asks, her head swivelling like an office chair.

  ‘Calm down and walk out,’ I tell her. ‘Hold my hand.’

  ‘No, I don’t know you!’ Mikaela says, shrinking away from me. ‘I’m just out shopping. You stay here, I’m going out first. You’re not with me!’

  ‘Fine,’ I say. The way Mikaela is, I don’t fancy walking out with her anyway, she’d panic if she was with me and saw one of the Uniform guys who hang around the exits giving everyone the evil eye.

  Not long afterwards, I’m pushing out of the Debenhams doors. MC is close behind me. You’re meant to walk out calmly, but the moment MC gets outside, she runs like her knickers are on fire. Me and Cakes run after her, laughing our heads off. Mikaela plays catch up. MC says afterwards that she ran because one of the Security was onto us and she saved us, we all owe her big time.

  We’re in a city park. It’s show time. MC shows a pair of Ray Bans and three diamante necklaces. Cakes shows a pair of pink leather gloves.

  ‘Your turn, Magic. Show.’

  I go into my pocket and palm out what I’ve lifted. Two gold bracelets.

  MC doesn’t say anything. She just smiles the way she smiles when she’s really pleased with what you’ve lifted. The smile that shows her dimple.

  ‘Real gold?’ she asks.

  ‘Would I lift anything else?’

  ‘They’re beautiful. Was it a swap?’

  I nod.

  ‘I didn’t even see you,’ says Mikaela.

  I shrug. ‘That’s why I’m called Magic.’

  MC grins. ‘One each?’

  ‘Course,’ I say. ‘“A rob for one is a rob for all”.’

  MC kisses me on the cheek. Then her phone rings. It’s a Mad Axeman ring tone. She and Cakes have to split. Mikaela takes off too, saying she has to meet up with her mum at ballet school in five minutes. Suddenly I’m on my own.

  I catch the bus. When I get home, Dad’s car is not on the drive. I open the door and immediately I can smell my brother’s in. I go into my mum’s room. She’s not on her bed. I check the floor. She’s not here. Where then?

  I get a flash. Mum drowning in a bath of vodka, with a line of lit spliffs in front of her on the plastic tray thing that goes across the bath. I check both bathrooms. She’s not in either of them.

  She’s not in.

  I tidy up the kitchen, then go up to my room, jump on my bed, and toy with my new bracelet. I wonder where Dad is. I wonder where my brother is.

  I decide to phone Marcus. I’ve got no phone credit so I pick up the house phone. Out of habit, I wait a few seconds to make sure MTB does not pick up an extension somewhere and listen in (he’s done it before and I only caught him when he started giggling when I said ‘bye bye, sweetie-pie, I love you’ to Marcus), then I dial Marcus’s house phone number. His mum answers.

  ‘Hi Adele, he’s out shopping for new shin pads. He got kicked rotten today. You OK?’

  ‘Fine. Did he win?’

  ‘Yes, love. He’s on Cloud Nine. Happy as Larry.’

  I can hear a child wailing in the background. Then Marcus’s mum shouts: ‘Put that down right now! That’s enough! Now go and sit on the naughty step...’

  The voice comes back close to the phone.

  ‘Not you, Adele. Leah,’ Marcus’s mum says, half-embarrassed. ‘It doesn’t work, mind you. She has all her toys there, by her naughty step, she actually likes it. I’m so happy to have Leah, after all these years of boys. Finally I can get some pink in here.’ She laughs. ‘Did you have a match today, love?’

  ‘No, yesterday.’

  ‘How did it go?’

  ‘We won. I scored twice.’

  ‘Brilliant. Is the England team knocking for you?’

  ‘They’ve not told us yet.’

  ‘That’s not “no” then is it? I’m chuffed for you. So proud of you, Adele!’

  The way Marcus’s mum says it, I can almost feel her squeezing me in an enormous hug of happiness over the phone.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say, blushing even though I’m on the phone.

  ‘If Leah turns out half as good as you, I’d be so happy.’

  ‘I’m not all good,’ I say.

  ‘Don’t be like that, I mean nobody’s perfect, I’m sure you’re a moody cow at times like us all but you’re a good girl, Adele, and I won’t hear any different.’

  ‘OK,’ I say, giving in.

  ‘And you make Marcus so happy. The way he beams when he talks about you. Don’t tell him I told you, he likes to act all sad and moody, I mean he is all sad and moody, except when he talks about you.’

  ‘He doesn’t ring me much though, does he?’ I say.

  ‘No, he’s not very good with talking on the phone. He prefers to text. You sure you’re alright, Adele?’

  ‘Yeh. I got to go now, start my homework.’ I do a big groan.

  ‘Sooner you start it, sooner it’s finished, right? I’ll tell him you called. Look after yourself, darling.’

  ‘OK. Bye, Mrs Adenuga.’

  I do that thing where I imagine I was swapped at birth and actually Mrs Adenuga is my real mum (except that would make Marcus my brother!). She so believes in me, she wants Leah to grow up like me. It makes me feel bad about the shoplifting.

  I place the gold bracelet with the others. They look cool sitting all together. We’ve never been caught, though once this bloke chased us outside of Mango. We’ve never been to Mango since then.

  I use my laptop to go on Facebook, Mikaela’s Status Update says:

  Had the most amazing time with Adele Vialli. Big up. The girl is Legend.

  There’s an attachment. It’s a photo of what we lifted from Debenhams. Shit. I didn’t know she took a photo. There could be girls from our school working at Debenhams who could recognise the stuff. I message her fast.

  Mikay u idiot. Tek da fb foto down asap

  Mikay’s next Status Update opens.

  4get wot I sed abt Adele Vialli. She is 1 big fk up. Just anotha Poor Lickle Rich Girl. Down With It? She dont know what It is. #Notanotherfaker.

  Immediately three people jump in and a big argument starts with everyone insulting me or Mikaela or even random other people. Mikaela deletes the Status Update and all the comments tagged to it disappear with it. I’m about to message her, but my laptop crashes. I hear a curse. My brother puts his head round my door.

  ‘How’s little sis?’

  ‘What’s it to you?’

  He shrugs. ‘I’ve downloaded a virus and knocked out the Internet. Sorry.’

  I throw my bedside lamp at him. It misses and hits the wall by the bookshelves, which crash into the mini fridge which sparks the socket and all the lights go out.

  MTB disappears and two minutes later the lights come back on and he’s back.

  ‘Don’t worry little sis, I’ve sorted it,’ he says.

  It’s like he wants a medal for throwing a circuit breaker switch from Off to On.

  ‘Good boy, well done,’ I tell him, ‘Dix points. Off you go now, fuck off back to your own room.’

  ‘Internet’s still down though,’ he says, lingering.

  ‘You didn’t fix nothing then, did you, baboon face?’ I tell him sweetly.

  He smirks. He actually likes it when I insult him. He’s hanging at my door.

  ‘I guess now that all your sad hobbies are impossible ’cos the Internet’s down, you’ve come to talk to me?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  I let him sit on the edge of my bed. I guess we’re due a catch-up.

  ‘You still wagging school now and then?’ I ask him.

  He nods. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘I tidy before I leave and you’re a slob. When you’re heading for the gym you always mess up the kitchen looking for cheese and leave it lying all over the place.’

  ‘It’s for my muscles,’ he says. He flexes his biceps proudly.

  While he’s preening, I notice he’s got flecks of mud in his hair, which reminds me he
’s played a match today.

  ‘Did you win?’

  His chest swells. ‘9-3.’

  ‘Did you score?’

  ‘Got Man of the Match, though.’

  ‘Well done, you. Was Dad there?’

  He shakes his head in an, I-wasn’t-bothered-though kind of way.

  Dad not being at an MTB match is unusual.

  ‘Where’s Mum?’

  He shrugs again, this time with a flicker of concern.

  ‘You eaten?’

  ‘I’m not hungry.’

  ‘Right. I’ll make pasta a la Vialli. Buono?’

  He grins a thank you.

  As I go downstairs to the kitchen, I think, my brother is not one of the world’s greatest talkers. The words get lost somewhere on the way from his brain to his tongue. But I do love him.

  After we’ve eaten, we go out onto the front lawn and knock a football about. MTB is captain of his school team and a hair’s breadth from being signed to Man United. Dad is handling the negotiations. MTB is better than me at tackling, but I can match him kick for kick otherwise. We’re pinging the ball over the rose bushes when I hear the gates pull back and Dad’s car pushing through the gravel.

  We carry on playing to see who can hit the tallest rose first. I win. This annoys him and he makes it best out of three. When he loses that it becomes best out of five. We’re on best out of thirty-one when Mum shouts us both to come inside.

  MTB doesn’t talk to me for the rest of the evening because I beat him. Which is great.

  That night, under the covers, I’m still reliving my victory over MTB. How did I get so good? I remember how Dad put my brother into soccer coaching when he was six and dragged me with him. To shut me up, Dad would give me a ball to play with, a bright orange thing that had a string on it that attached to my ankle. (There’s embarrassing photos of me wearing it). Whatever my brother was doing at training, I copied, like you do as a kid. I could juggle a ball five times in the air by the age of five. I got a pat on the head but I guess they expected that, being a girl, I would grow out of it. And maybe I would have if it didn’t annoy MTB so much. Annoying your brother has to be up there with the best. 16-8 I beat him in our ‘hit the rose’ competition. I can probably even beat Marcus. My mind drifts. I hear Mum and Dad arguing downstairs but I don’t hear any thuds so I don’t go down and it goes quiet again. Marcus texts me goodnight with two kisses, which is one more than he usually sends.