Niven Govinden - Graffiti My Soul

I don’t have an abbreviation, a nickname. I could use the VIP, but would have to let on about the Isaac. I only let Casey call me V-pen because I feel sorry for him; because possibly I’m the only friend he’s got. Anyone else is having a laugh if they think they can short-change Veerapen into an acceptable variant. I had all the V-is-for-Vera bullshit when I was at primary school, and Vera Duckworth, and V-for-vagina. I had to kick it all out of them. Veerswamy, Vondripen, Very Pen, Pig Pen, Cow Pen, Play Pen. Kind of enjoyed it. Really got a buzz when some kid thought they had a bright idea. Every booting got me higher up the ladder.

Vera will crop up every now and again, usually when some new tosser tries to become popular with the group by trying to pick on the Paki. But he gets the wrong Paki. I’m six foot, so you shouldn’t mess with me unless you really think you can have a go. When you hear ‘Oi, Vera’ bellowed down the corridor, it’s like a siren telling you to run for cover. Anyone who’s in the way is just as likely to get thumped. I had to prove a point fairly similar to this about a week ago. You should have seen the tumbleweed once I’d clocked the guy who’d spat it. It was like some Matrix shit, the way I was flying about.

Luckily, Jase is around to back me. This guy’s brought two mates with him, one of them being Chris Pearson. Bust lips, dented egos, chipped tooth, broken finger, and a kick in the head. My favourite moment is when Jase holds the guy down, and I stamp on his face. We are all fight, us kids.

Moon’s in my room, testing me on questions that may come up on a forthcoming High School Challenge. Mum should be doing it, but has been called out because some old biddy has fallen down the toilet pan or something. I’m lucky to still be on the team after what happened to that guy’s face, but the semis were coming up and they needed me. There wasn’t enough of a talent pool in that school for a sub. I was let off with a warning. Two of the guys, who were caught putting the wrong boot in at the wrong time, were suspended. Pearson and Jase got the same deal as me: nag fucking nag. As usual, I kept it all from Mum.

‘What’s the capital of Australia?’

‘Is that the hardest question you got? This is supposed to be the semis.’

‘Stop stalling, idiot, you either know it or you don’t. What’s the capital of Australia?’

She’s in a bad mood because she missed the fight, and also because there’s been no text from Jase since he had a nibble on her nipple.

‘Darwin.’

‘Ha! Canberra.’

‘Fuck! Like they’re going to ask me that anyway.’

‘Don’t get all sniffy, thick boy. Remember how that African kid from Hampton Wick didn’t know the new name for Bombay? Lost them the comp. He looked like he was going to top himself when we saw them in the car park afterwards, remember?’

‘We were pelting their bus with stones, Moon, that may explain his petrified look.’

‘Possibly. But you obviously need a few more hours with an atlas, and less time cleaning up the school corridors.’

Her annoyance at not being called to watch the fight was, again, noted.

‘Any chance I can come to training tomorrow?’

‘At six a.m.? You’re having a laugh, aren’t you? Not even the rapists are out at that time of the morning.’

‘Don’t be stupid. I’ll be making an entrance, well after six-thirty. Just thought you might need some encouragement. And I haven’t seen you run for a while.’

‘And this has nothing to do with you wanting to get up close and personal with the town kiddie fiddler?’

More to do with Jase being there. I’d mentioned he might be popping down earlier.

‘It’s been bugging me. I want to see what he looks like.’

‘You’ve seen the papers, you know what he looks like.’

‘Not in the flesh. I want to see how he acts around you and everything. I may spot something you don’t … and I’ve got my new camera phone. Might be worth a couple of quid.’

‘No one’s interested in a picture of Casey.’

‘I reckon your mum might be.’

‘Moon, he’s a good trainer. I don’t need you baiting him.’

‘Duh! Like I’m that thick. I’ll take the dog out with me. He’s never seen us together, right? What could be more natural — girl taking her dog out for a shit first-thing?’

I’m about to spam Moon with my mouse-mat for lowering the tone of the conversation, but Mum pops her head round, fresh from the pensioner crisis. It had been a fairly serious stroke, and nothing to do with the toilet. She has the polite face she reserves for visitors, even though it’s only Moon, who doesn’t count. Holds a smile that’s attentive but slightly sad. Means that the guy who had the stroke probably died.

She holds a bag of Chinese.

‘Dinner for three,’ she says. ‘Don’t worry, Moon, I’ve just seen your mum. It’s fine. How are the questions going?’

The whiff from the noodles gives me instant memory loss. We virtually bulldoze her to the plates downstairs and polish off the lot. I don’t remember to ask Mum how she’s doing.

‘Shall I give her one?’ asks Jase. ‘Something’s telling me she’s up for it.’

We’re having an impromptu rest from technology. Options are limited so we’re taking refuge down the ropey. Mum’s got the afternoon off and is pampering herself with smelly shit. His mum has agoraphobia brought on from his sister and the hit and run, and never leaves the house. It’s cold but at least we can piss about without getting shouted at. I don’t like busting lessons, what with me being on a short lease after the fight and all, but Jason’s in a good mood and talks me into it.

‘I’ve got an iPod, what more can they teach me about technology,’ he goes, as we brazen it out of the gates. Praying that the cameras aren’t switched on. It’s all about the frontin’. (They usually switch them off during lesson-time to save money. It’s common knowledge amongst the dealers.)

Jason has a fuzzy skinhead, like playdough that has gone black and started to leach out, and is lanky lanky lanky. You can get away with calling him lurch if you’re a mate, otherwise expect a blow to the balls. Like I’ve said, I’m six foot, give or take, and he’s already towering way over me. Makes you wonder why anyone would want to have a go — but they still want to try it. The Goliath principle, I presume. Everyone wants to tackle the monster.

He’s a funny boy, is Jase, but what I like the most about him, aside from the fact that he’s so dumb with his goofy jokes and shit, is that he has this energy that is mad unpredictable and comes out of nowhere. There’s a charge that comes out of him that can give anyone standing near an electric shock. Moves like a very tall featherweight. I’ve had it a couple of times, so I know what I’m talking about. One minute you’re outside the offie and talking to people and everything’s all easy, the next he’s over in a corner without his legs even moving, and he’s got the guy by the phonebox in a headlock, and all without a word; bish bash, nice to meet ya, crack. I’m never bored when he’s around.

I’m a good boy really, but I won’t lie about it; I like the street violence around here. It’s probably one of the reasons I’ll never move out of Surrey.

Today he’s carrying, so we’re smoking a couple. You kind of have to if you’re out with Jason, that’s the rules. I’m having one puff out of every five, doing a Bill Clinton with the inhalations. Ever so gently, since my lower lip is still the size of a fish slice after last week’s Vera-baiting. I’m not a wuss. I just have a race in two days’ time, and want to win. Jason’s guzzling enough for both of us anyway. He barely notices what I’m doing — and what I’m not.