Desmond Barry - London Noir

Derek was talkin. What you did last night, he says, was a great and glorious thing. And I’m proud of each and every one of you.

We all smiled.

However, Derek went on, I want you to keep a low profile between now and Thursday. Voting day. Let’s see some of the other members of our party do their bit. We all have a part to play.

He told us that the concerned populace would go leafle-tin and canvasin in their suits an best clothes, Steve walkin round an all. He could spin a good yarn, Steve. How he’d left Labour in disgust because they were the Pakis’ friend, the asylum-seekers’ safe haven. How they invited them over to use our National Heath Service, run drugs an prostitution rings. He would tell that to everyone he met, try an make them vote for him. Derek said it was playin on their legitimate fears, but to me it just sounded so RIGHT. Let him play on whatever he wanted.

He went on. We listened. I felt like I belonged. Like I was wanted, VALUED. Meetins always felt the same.

LIKE I’D COME HOME.

The meetin broke up. Everyone started drinkin.

Courtney, one of the girls, came up to me, asked if I was stayin on. She’s short with a soft barrel body an hard eyes. She’s fucked nearly all the foot soldiers. Sometimes more than once, sometimes a few at a time. Calls it her patriotic duty. Hard eyes, but a good heart. I went along with them once. I had to. All the lads did. But I didn’t do much. Just sat there, watched most of the time. Looked at them. Didn’t really go near her.

Anyway, she gave me that look. Rubbed up against me. Let me see the tops of her tits down the front of her low-cut T-shirt. Made me blush. Then made me angry cos I blushed. I told her I had to go, that I couldn’t afford a drink. My jobseeker’s allowance was gone an Baz hadn’t come up with any work for me.

She said that she was gettin together with a few of the lads after the pub. Was I interested?

I said no. An went home.

Well, not straight home. There was somethin I had to do first. Somethin I couldn’t tell the rest of them about.

There’s a part of the estate you just DON’T GO. At least not by yourself. Not after dark. Unless you were tooled up. Unless you want somethin. An I wanted somethin.

It was dark there. Shadows on shadows. Hip hop an reggae came from open windows. The square was deserted. I walked, crunched on gravel, broken glass. I felt eyes watchin me. Unseen ones. Wished I’d brought me blade. Still, I had me muscles. I’d worked on me body since I joined the party, got good an strong. I was never like that at school. Always the weak one. Not anymore.

I was kind of safe, I knew that. As long as I did what I was here to do, I wouldn’t get attacked. Because this was where the niggers lived.

I went to the usual corner an waited. I heard him before I saw him. Comin out of the dark, along the alleyway, takin his time, baggy jeans slung low on his hips, Calvins showin at the top. Vest hangin loose. Body ripped an buff.

Aaron. The Ebony Warrior.

Aaron. Drug dealer.

I swallowed hard.

He came up close, looked at me. The usual look, smilin, like he knows somethin I don’t. Eye to eye. I could smell his warm breath on my cheek. I felt uneasy. The way I always do with him.

Jez, he said slowly, an held his arms out. See anythin you want?

I swallowed hard again. Me throat was really dry.

You know what I want. Me voice sounded ragged.

He laughed his private laugh. I know exactly, he said, an waited.

His breath was all sweet with spliff an alcohol. He kept starin at me. I dug my hand into my jacket pocket. Brought out money. Nearly the last I had, but he didn’t know that.

He shook his head, brought out a clingfilm wrap from his back pocket.

Enjoy, he said.

It’s not for me an you know it.

He smiled again. Wanna try some? Some skunk, maybe? Now? With me?

I don’t do drugs. I hardly drink. An he knows it. He was tauntin me. He knew what my answer would be.

Whatever, he said. Off you go then, back to your little Hitler world.

I said nothing. I never could when he talked to me.

Then he did somethin he’d never done before. He touched my arm.

You shouldn’t hate, he said. Life too short for that, y’get me?

I looked down at his fingers. The first black fingers I’d ever had on my body. I should have thrown them off. Told him not to touch me, called him a filthy nigger. Hit him.

But I didn’t. His fingers felt warm. And strong.

What should I do then? I could hardly hear my own voice.

Love, he said.

I turned round, walked away.

I heard his laugh behind me.

At home, Dad was asleep on the sofa. Snorin an fartin. I went into Tom’s room. Empty. I left the bundle by his bedside an went out.

I hadn’t been lyin to Courtney. It was nearly the last of me money. I didn’t like buyin stuff for Tom, but what could I do? It was either that or he went out on the street to sell somethin, himself even, to get money for stuff. I had no choice.

I went to bed but couldn’t sleep. Things on me mind but I didn’t know what. Must be the elections. That was it. I lay starin at the ceilin, then realized me cock was hard. I took it in me hand. This’ll get me to sleep, I thought. I thought hard about Courtney. An all those lads.

That did the trick.

The next few days were a bit blurry. Nothin much happened. It was all waitin. For the election. For Baz to find me some more work. For Tom to run out of heroin again an need another hit.

Eventually Thursday rolled round an it was election day. I went proudly off to the pollin station at the school I used to go to. Looked at the kids’ names on the walls. Hardly one of them fuckin English. Made me do that cross all the more harder.

I stayed up all night watchin the election. Tom was out, me dad fell asleep.

Steve got in.

I went fuckin mental.

I’d been savin some cans for a celebration an I went at them. I wished I could have been in the St. George with the rest but I knew us foot soldiers couldn’t. But God, how I WANTED TO. That was where I should have been. Who I should have been with. That was where I BELONGED.

But I waited. My time would come.

I stayed in all the next day. Lost track of time.

Put the telly on. Local news. They reported what had happened. Interviewed some Paki. Called himself a community leader. Said he couldn’t be held responsible if members of his community armed themselves and roamed the streets in gangs looking for BNP members. His people had a right to protect themselves.

They switched to the studio. An there was Derek. Arguin with some cunt from Cambridge. Least that’s what he looked like. Funny, I thought people were supposed to look bigger on TV. Derek just looked smaller. Greasy hair. Fat face. Big nose. Almost like a Jew, I thought. Then felt guilty for thinkin it.

It’s what the people want, he said. The people have spoken. They’re sick and tired of a government that is ignoring the views of the common man and woman. And the common man and woman have spoken. We are not extremists. We are representing what the average, decent person in this country thinks but doesn’t dare say because of political correctness. Because of what they fear will happen to them.

I felt better hearin him say that. Then they turned to the Cambridge cunt. He was a psychologist or psychiatrist or sociologist or somethin. I thought, here it comes. He’s gonna start arguin back an then Derek’s gonna go for him. But he didn’t. This sociologist just looked calm. Smiled, almost.

It’s sad, he said. It’s sad so few people realize. As a society it seems we base our responses on either love or hate, thinking they’re opposites. But they’re not. They’re the same. The opposite of love is not hate. It’s indifference.