Catherine Bruton: I Predict a Riot

‘It’s just . . . this is twice as big as our whole bedsit.’

‘Oh, right,’ I said, wishing again that I hadn’t brought him. ‘Do you want something to eat?’ I asked. ‘I can get Petra to make a sandwich if you like.’

He was staring at the shiny red fridge with an expression on his face like he was really hungry, but he just said, ‘Nah, I’m good.’

‘You sure?’

‘I said I’m good.’ He looked odd when he said that, like he was suddenly mad at me or something.

‘You’ve got to have a Krispy Kreme doughnut then.’ I grabbed a box out of the fridge and put it down on the kitchen island. ‘My dad sends me a dozen every week.’

Tokes had been gazing up at the glass roof of the kitchen, and out at the garden, but he turned round and stared at the tray of multicoloured glazed doughnuts – pink ones and white ones and one with sprinkles and toffee cubes. ‘Seriously?’ he said. ‘A whole box?’

I shrugged and tried to explain. ‘It’s because I loved them when I was little. Once I ate so many, I was sick.’ I paused, remembering the smell of vomit and doughnuts and shame. Then I said, ‘I think they’re to make up for him not being around, you know?’

‘So do you eat them all?’

I shook my head. ‘I usually end up throwing half of them away.’

‘In that case . . .’ Tokes took a doughnut and bit into it like he hadn’t eaten properly for days. ‘Seems silly to waste them!’ he said, his mouth full of chewy dough. He was looking round the kitchen again, taking in all the framed photos on the walls.

‘It feels like we’re a million miles from Coronation Road in here,’ he said. ‘Shiv and the Starfish Gang and Little Pea – it’s like none of that other stuff even exists. Like it can’t touch you.’

‘I suppose,’ I said.

‘Is this your mum?’ he asked, pointing at a picture of a tall, dark-haired woman in a striking red suit, shaking hands with Tony Blair.

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘And that one.’ I pointed at a picture of my mum talking to the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh. She loves that photo.

‘It is pretty cool, you’ve got to admit,’ said Tokes, looking impressed.

‘I told you. There is nothing cool about my mum,’ I said quietly. The sad face on my right boot seemed to glower up at me as I said it. Like it was accusing me of lying.

Just then the kitchen door opened and a young woman with dark black eye make-up and blonde hair with black roots stuck her head round the door.

‘Hi, Petra,’ I muttered.

She didn’t seem that interested. She just nodded, taking in the sight of Tokes and me and the box of doughnuts without comment. ‘Your mother call,’ she said in heavily accented English.

‘What did she want?’

‘She not home till late tonight. She say eat without her.’

I shot Tokes a look as Petra made her way over to the fridge and started pulling stuff out. I’ve filmed her quite a bit without her knowing it, but she’s one of those people who don’t give much away. She looked up with lazy eyes and said, ‘Your friend want to stay for dinner?’

‘No,’ said Tokes quickly.

I glanced at him. He was looking uncomfortable again. ‘Come on,’ I said. ‘Let’s find somewhere else to film.’

I filmed Tokes as he checked out our house. I’ve got footage of him pushing open doors and peeking into other rooms. The toilet made him laugh. ‘It’s the size of a footie pitch,’ he said, taking in the golden taps and the black-and-white pictures all over the crimson red walls. ‘Who needs a loo this big?’

He reckoned my mum’s office looked like something from a stately home. Then he opened the door to the sitting room, which is all leather sofas and glass tables and two walls covered from floor to ceiling in books. ‘Whoa!’ He stood staring at the bookshelves. I caught his face on camera – eyes lit up like the words were pouring out of the books and making his skin tingle. ‘It’s like having a library in your own house.’

‘My mum gets mad because I never read them,’ I said as he ran his hands up and down the leather spines.

‘You don’t like reading?’ He pulled his eyes away from the books for a second to look at me.

I shrugged. ‘I don’t get on so well with books.’

‘My dad is like that,’ he said. ‘Me, I love them. Better even than doughnuts, you know!’ He grinned.

‘You want to borrow one?’ I asked quickly.

He glanced at the books again, a look of longing in his eyes. ‘Nah,’ he said. ‘I’m OK.’

‘But nobody reads them – it seems a shame.’

He stared at the shelf. Some of the books looked so old they must have been printed a hundred years ago. They were sort of beautiful – all the shades of fading leather and gold embossed lettering. My dad ordered them alphabetically and I remember my mum calling him obsessive-compulsive. I think they had a big row about that too.

Tokes pulled out a copy of a leather-bound book which said Great Expectations in gold lettering along the spine. ‘Miss Kayacan said I should read this,’ he said. ‘I tried to take it out of the library.’ He looked up, his eyes distant, underwater, like he was already thinking about somewhere else. ‘Are you sure your mum won’t mind?’

‘You can keep it for all she’ll notice.’

‘No, I’ll bring it back,’ said Tokes firmly. ‘As soon as I’ve read it.’

Just then my phone beeped and I looked down at it.

‘It’s a text. From Pea,’ I said.

‘How did he get your number?’

‘I have no idea.’ I remembered Pea saying he knew everything that went down on Coronation Road, but no one around here even knows my name, let alone my number.

‘What does he say?’ Tokes looked worried again.

‘He says he’s set up some stuff for us to film.’

Tokes rolled his eyes. ‘Should have known.’

‘He wants us to meet him tomorrow,’ I added. ‘Apparently, he’s got some well good news to tell us.’

‘So much for keeping out of trouble,’ said Tokes.

‘Do you think we should go?’

‘We’ve got to, haven’t we?’ said Tokes with a shrug. ‘He’ll tell Shiv about your film otherwise.’

‘ You don’t have to come though.’ I looked at him nervously, remembering what he’d said about keeping out of trouble.

‘I can’t let you go on your own,’ he said. ‘You don’t know how it works with kids like Pea and Shiv.’

‘I don’t need you to look after me,’ I said.

‘I know,’ said Tokes. ‘But neither of us wants any trouble. And we’re mates, aren’t we?’

My stomach contracted oddly and I looked at him hard to see if he was kidding. ‘I guess,’ I said.

‘Well, mates look out for each other,’ he said with a smile. ‘So we’re in this together, OK?’

I nodded. And I think I felt happier in that moment than I had for months.

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