East of Acre Lane. Alex Wheatle

no way of climbing up from her VDU operator title, although checking orders and typing invoices was getting a little boring. Her bosses at the mail order catalogue company made it clear to her that she was lucky to even have a job. ‘Nah, I’ll ’ave to be der a long time for dat. Probably when I’m a greyback.’

      ‘How’s Sharon getting on at college?’ Biscuit asked, wanting to deflect any attention from his career prospects.

      ‘She’s doing alright y’know. You know dat last year she got all her O levels, well, she’s jus’ done her mocks for her A levels an’ she reckon she done alright. She told me she wants to be a social worker.’

      ‘Social worker? Rarted. At least one of us is going places.’

      ‘Yeah, well, you know Sharon, always reading book an’ t’ing. She don’t even rave too much dese days. Wha’ about Floyd? When is he gonna change his ways?’

      ‘Floyd’s the same, man. Den again he ain’t the same. He’s getting more vex by de day. He really hates white people y’know. All he does dese days is listen to Peter Tosh an’ Burning Spear, an’ last week he went down to the library down Brixton an takes out dese books ’bout communism an’ dat Marxist t’ing. He’s got talking to some of dem man who sell dat newspaper outside de tube station. He better mind ’imself cos man an’ man say dat dem newspaper man get followed by spy an’ shit.’

      ‘Wha’ about Brenton? I haven’t seen ’im for a few weeks.’

      ‘He’s jus’ got a flat in Palace Road. Don’t see him too much meself dese days, he kinda keeps ’imself to ’imself. You noticed he’s calmed down a bit since de Terry Flynn t’ing. He’s doing alright y’know.’

      ‘You see,’ Carol said. ‘If Brenton can get his runnings alright, den why can’t you?’

      ‘Cos I’m not good at nutten. I dunno wha’ I can do. An’ even if I did know, der’s many youts all in de same queue for de one job.’

      ‘Keep trying, man. You can’t carry on what you’re doing, an’ dat goes to Coffin Head too.’

      ‘Yeah, I know. But I got to survive, man. Wid all dis talk of de future I’ve got to pay for today. I don’t like to see my mudder go widout.’

      Carol had heard these words about Biscuit’s mother often. It was a bond she found overbearing. With all the cash Biscuit accumulated, he didn’t drive a car or overindulge in clothes. He had no expensive rings or heavy gold chains. And he didn’t have an expansive music catalogue. She knew his money went to the maintenance and well-being of his family and she respected him for it.

      ‘I better chip now, your parents will start cussing soon.’

      ‘Yeah, alright den. You going to Maxine’s wedding in two weeks’ time? Floyd an’ Sharon are going and I t’ought your mum would get an invitation. She knows Maxine’s mum, innit?’

      ‘Oh yeah, I forgot ’bout dat. Yeah, I should reach, all my family should reach.’

      Carol escorted Biscuit downstairs where he bade goodbye to her parents. He met the cold Brixton air with a heaviness in his heart, wondering why Carol kicked up such a fuss about where his money came from. If we both like each uder, den wha’s de problem, he asked himself. I s’pose I’ll jus’ ’ave to ’ave patience, he sighed. He recalled the thoughts of his brother: when a man hasn’t got any work, they go missing. He felt that Royston should also have added that a man without work can’t have the girl he loves. He looked into his future and dreaded that Carol might not be in it.

      ‘Wha’ de fuck am I gonna do?’