Niven Govinden - Graffiti My Soul

‘Everything all right?’

‘Yeah, fine. Look, Brendan, I know you’re responsible for me for the day, but you don’t have to keep checking up. I’m a big boy, I know how these things work.’

‘I never said you didn’t. Just thought you’d like some encouragement before you start warming up.’

Better the motivational lecture here than on the track when I’m getting myself in the zone. Don’t want people to mistake him for anyone important.

‘Why are you here, anyway?’

‘Because I’m responsible for all amateur athletics in North East Surrey, and…’

I give him the W. Whatever .

‘Come to claim all the credit. I don’t even run for your scabby Harriers any more.’

I shouldn’t be getting riled up like this, but I do. All Casey’s techniques on taking your mind down to semi-meditative state before warm-up, of eschewing drama for focus, are gone, thanks to this dry-skinned donut.

He gives this broad smile as I’m saying all this, raises his eyes like he’s humouring me, and then, when I’m done, his face tightens, eyes darken. All the tension showing in his brows and neck.

He gets up and shuts the door, but doesn’t move an inch more than that, standing dead straight, hands crossed behind his back like a police sergeant on a fun run. The authority figure.

‘You might be on the margins, young man, but you’re still a part of my remit whether you know it or not.’

‘Like fuck I am! You’ve had nothing to do with me since I was booted out! You’re only sniffing round now ’cos everyone else at the center runs like a spastic.’

‘How do you explain Casey?’

‘Dunno what you’re talking about.’

‘Did you really think that I wouldn’t know you two were working together? That all your progress this year was down to you training solo? I’m not stupid.’

‘I haven’t seen Casey since…’

‘Yesterday. You haven’t seen Casey since yesterday. You can stop pretending otherwise.’

‘You can’t be bothered with me, Brendan, so it’s none of your business who I train with.’

‘I knew he’d been training you since that friendly in November. It was all in the technique. You were so bold all of a sudden. So assured. Pure Casey.’

‘He’s the best, that’s why. Not like these amateurs you have running about the place.’

‘Casey’s no hero. He’s a nothing. He’s lost everything. Self-esteem. Passion. Bravery. When a man like that caves in, and lets the fear take over him, it’s open season, lad. I could impose my will any way I like. Break him, just for fun. Wreck your chances. There’s nothing you could do about it.’

‘Bullying belongs at school, mate. Not here. What gives you the right to deny Casey a second chance?’

‘But I have given him a second chance! I’ve kept my mouth shut. He wouldn’t still be training you otherwise.’

‘Feels like Casey ain’t the one people should be watching. What are you getting out of this, aside from making his life a misery?’

‘I’m not immune to wanting some praise every once in a while. Anyone who isn’t honest with themselves about that is a liar. We all want to be a Johnny Big Potatoes. That’s one of the reasons why I do this job. So combine the notion of rescuing Casey with getting my hands on his young protégé… the young dark-skinned protégé that everyone’s talking about. A potential Asian hero. Do you see where I’m coming from? It doesn’t get any better than that! He could develop you into something this country could be proud of, and if I got some of the credit for that…’

I go and lock myself in the bathroom for the next few minutes. Turn on the shower and all the taps so that I don’t have to hear any more of his talking. Knock my head hard against the mirror a couple of times until I get scared at the idea of cutting myself and stop. I can’t deal with the stress. All this chatting to people I shouldn’t.

Brendan’s fifteen minutes of local fame will have to wait. I run my race and come second. It’s good, but not good enough.

Post-cinema, all the girls want to do is stuff their faces at the Golden Arches, but make out that they’re only here for our benefit. They shout their order for milkshakes as they run upstairs to the ladies to apply yet more MAC, all of us knowing that there’ll be trouble if said shakes, strawberry for one and chocolate for the other, aren’t delivered on a tray complete with jumbo fries and two dozen nuggets. Pearson already has the Moon fear written all over his face and gets the order down pat.

Friday night. Double date. Moon’s and Kelly’s idea. Something they cooked up in art class whilst Ms Jackson locked herself in the cupboard and had a nervous breakdown. An hour of chaos apparently, a display of pure lawlessness, started by three of the hard kids from the Rose estate. An environment where the hardest of enemies can melt into something resembling friendship, laughing in unison over the fighting pikeys. (Year Head was virtually ready to call the police. It was only the three-thirty bell that stopped things.) Me and Pearson didn’t have any say in the matter. We just had to turn up.

Outside the Odeon the girls hug each other. Kel hugs Pearson, I hug Moon (strangely exhilarating doing this in front of that shit-for-brains lump — even if the actual touch feels like we’re strangers). And then the girls wait for the boys to do their thing. Passing the love is the fakest thing in the world, and the two of us are the worst at it. We’re nowhere near achieving the levels of fakeness that everyone else seems to display so well and with so much flair. He’s hating this as much as I am. His smile is out, full blast, but the eyes harden when he realises that he’s going to have to press the flesh. It’s only because he’s so besotted with Moon that he even contemplates coming into contact with brown skin. That much is very obvious. We do the black handshake, give a wassup, and the girls relax. I don’t.

New slasher flick, everybody’s doing it, so screen is packed. We are glued to each other. Me and Pearson are separated by the girls for safety. No escape. Mine and Kel’s snogging has to compete with theirs. Not as much tongue on their side, I notice. His ineffectiveness makes me feel like a right Don Juan. With people on all four sides there’s no chance for anything else. Shame. The only Bo’ Selecta! nudie antics are all in my head.

I have been lying my pants off. Things on the love front are muddy, not rosy. It’s Moon that I want. Whenever I kiss Kelly, it’s Moony Suzuki that I’m thinking of. There’s no competition. But I don’t confuse snogging with anything else. A warm tongue, an open mouth and all that… I act my socks off. Oscar material. The other three are none the wiser.

Down at the Golden Arches, Pearson starts acting like a motherfucker the moment the girls are out of sight. He doesn’t quite pin me down, but makes pretty damn sure my face comes close to the counter top. My lips kiss the charity box by the till. Penance for molesting Moon in my head whilst I was physically molesting Kelly. Know there’s no point in struggling when he’s got my neck down like this, not just yet. I need to see his body, and I can’t from this angle. Need to plan my moves.

‘Don’t listen to every word my girlfriend tells you,’ he goes. ‘I ain’t apologising for nothing.’

It’s about nine o’clock and the place ain’t busy. There are some younger kids on the front tables who are hanging in two groups of about eight — Year 10 grungers, seen ’em about the place — chatting and not eating anything. A couple of mental home nutters, and an old guy about thirty with bad skin and no date complete the scene. The High Street is like tumbleweed for anyone respectable after dark. If you have any sense you avoid it like the plague.