Zadie Smith: NW

Natalie found herself nudged a few feet along by his shoulder until they were standing at the furthest point between two streetlights. On the other side of the railings one spindly Victorian lamppost cast a weak glare over the flowerbeds. When Naomi was small Natalie had strapped her daughter to her chest and walked figure of eights in this cemetery hoping the child would take her afternoon nap. Local people claimed Arthur Orton was buried in here somewhere. In all her figure of eights she never found him.

Let’s go in. I want to climb in.

Hold up. Keisha’s gone crazy.

Let’s go in. Come on. I’m not scared. What are you scared of? The dead?

Don’t know about duppies, Keisha. Don’t want to know about them.

Natalie tried to return the joint but Nathan directed it back to her mouth.

Why you even out here Keisha? You should be home.

I’m not going home.

Suit yourself.

You got kids, Nathan?

Me? Nah.

There came a gentle whirring sound, growing louder, then a screech. A bike made a sharp-angled stop in front of them. A young man with messy cane-rows, one trouser leg rolled up to the knee, leaned his bike to one side, reached over and muttered into Nathan’s ear. Nathan listened for a moment, shook his head, stepped back.

Leave me, man. Too late.

The kid shrugged and put his foot to the pedal. Natalie watched the bike speed away past the old cinema.

It’s just a death sentence.

What?

Kids. If they get born, they’re gonna die. So that’s what you’re giving them at the end of the day. See, that’s why I like talking to you, Keisha, you’re real. We always have deep talks you and me.

I wish we could have talked more often.

I’m on the street, Keisha. I had some bad luck. Novlene don’t tell people the truth. But I’m not going to lie. You can see. Here I am. What you see is what you get.

Natalie kept looking in the direction of the boy on the bike. She had picked up the habit of being embarrassed by other people’s bad luck.

I ran into Novlene, on the high road, a while back.

Smart Keisha.

What?

She tell you she don’t let me in the house no more? Bet she didn’t. Go on, Smart Keisha. Tell me something smart. You’re a lawyer now, innit.

Yes. Barrister. It doesn’t matter.

You got a wig on your head. Hammer in your hand.

No. It doesn’t matter.

Nah, but you did well. My mum loves up telling me about you. Smart Keisha. Oi, look at that fox! Slinking through.

He had a little torch on the end of his phone and he shone it through the bars. The end of an ugly tail — like a bent old brush — vanished behind an oak tree.

Sneaky animals. Foxes are everywhere. If you ask me, they run tings.

The fox was scrawny and seemed to be running sideways, over the gravestones. Nathan’s torch followed it as far as it could before the animal leapt into nothingness and disappeared.

How’d you get into that business?

Law?

Yeah. How’d you get into that?

I don’t know. It just happened.

You was always smart. You deserve it.

That doesn’t follow.

There he is again! They’re fast, them foxes!

I’ve got to go.

The strength went from Nathan’s legs. He wilted. First into the bars and then sideways into Natalie. She had not expected to be anybody else’s support. Together they slid down the bars to the ground.

Jesus — you need to stop smoking.

Keisha, stay and chat with me a bit. Chat to me, Keisha.

They stretched their legs out on the pavement.

People don’t chat to me no more. Look at me like they don’t know me. People I used to know, people I used to run with.

He put his hand flat on his chest.

Too much speed in this thing. Heart is running. That little chief. Don’t know why I ever give him my time. This is on him. Always taking shit too far. How can I stop Tyler though? Tyler should stop Tyler. I shouldn’t even be chatting with you, I should be in Dalston, cos this isn’t even on me, it’s on him. But I’m looking at myself asking myself Nathan why you still here? Why you still here? And I don’t even know why. I ain’t even joking. I should just run from myself.

Calm down. Take long breaths.

Let me get myself straight, Keisha. Keep walking with me.

He slipped off his hood, took off his cap. At the nape of his neck there was a coin-sized blotch of white skin.

Come on, let’s move.

He was on his feet in a second. A red and blue light passed over the cemetery wall.

What about this?

Just drop it on the ground. Come on. Be speedy.

Where Shoot Up Hill meets Kilburn High Road they stopped, in the forecourt of the tube station.

Wait here.

Nathan left Natalie by the ticket machines and walked in the direction of the flower shop. She waited until he was out of sight and then followed, stopping by the edge of the awning. He was in the doorway of the Chinese takeaway, talking with two girls, whispering with them. One in a short lycra skirt and a hoodie, the other a small girl in a tracksuit with a headscarf that had fallen far back on her skull. The three of them stood huddled together. Something changed hands. Natalie watched him put a hand on the head of the smaller girl.

What did I just say? Don’t make me say shit twice.

I ain’t saying anything.

Good. Keep it that way.

Nathan stepped out of the doorway, spotted Natalie, groaned. The girls walked off in the opposite direction.

Who were those girls?

Nobody.

I know things. I used to be down the Bow Street cells every night.

Closed now. They take you down Horseferry now.

That’s right, they do.

I know some things too, Keisha. I’m deep. You ain’t the only smart one round here.

I see that. Who are those girls?

Let’s go Shoot Up Hill then cut across.

The street was longer and wider than ever. The houses and flats are set far back on that road, they look like hide-outs, as if the people who live here still fear the highwaymen who gave the place its name. To Natalie it seemed impossible that they would ever get to the end of it.

You got money on you?

No.

We could get two tins.

I don’t have anything on me, Nathan.

They walked for a time without speaking. Nathan kept close to the walls, never taking up the center of the pavement. It struck Natalie that she was no longer crying or shaking, and that dread was the hardest emotion in the world to hold on to for more than a moment. She couldn’t resist this display of the textures of the world; white stone, green turf, red rust, gray slate, brown shit. It was almost pleasant, strolling to nowhere. They crossed over, Natalie Blake and Nathan Bogle, and kept climbing, past the narrow red mansion flats, up into money. The world of council flats lay far behind them, at the bottom of the hill. Victorian houses began to appear, only a few at first, then multiplying. Fresh gravel in the drives, white wooden blinds in the windows. Estate agent’s hoarding strapped to the front gate.

Some of these houses are worth twenty times what they were worth a decade ago. Thirty times.

Is it.

They walked on. At intervals along the pavement the council had planted an optimistic line of plane trees, little saplings protected by a coil of plastic round their trunks. One had already been pulled up at the roots and another snapped in half.

That bit of the Heath where the main road runs right through and the pavement disappears. It was dark and raining softly. They walked the tarmac in single file. Natalie felt the cars very close on her right and on her left brambles and bushes. Nathan had his hood and cap to protect him. Her own half-destroyed horseshoe-braid was wet to the scalp. Now and then he offered a warning over his shoulder. Keep to the left. Dog shit. Slippy. She couldn’t have asked for a better companion.