Being Me by Pete Kalu Page B

pointing.
    ‘How are your windows?’
    ‘Mum!’ groans Marcus.
    ‘They’re fine,’ I say.
    ‘I can’t leave you here on your own. I’m not driving you back to the police station. You’ll have to stop at ours until your mum or dad get back.’
    ‘That’s fine,’ I say. I’ve never been inside Marcus’s house before, though I’ve sneaked him in mine once.
    Mrs Adenuga drives us off. I feel the sweat drying up in my armpit. Marcus has my hand again. We’re soon on an estate of small houses with no space between them. There’s a park in the middle with one set of slanting goalposts and a pack of roaming dogs. A man is playing golf there and seems to be aiming his golf balls at the dogs. Mrs Adenuga pulls up at a house facing the park and nudges the car onto the short drive.
    We go in. There’s a sound like a cat has got its tail stuck in a food blender but neither Marcus nor his mum look concerned. Mrs Adenuga pushes open the living room door. A man is sitting in a swivel chair at a desk in a corner. He’s got headphones on and is swaying to some music while making the cat sound.
    ‘I just sprung your son’s girlfriend out of the nick!’ Mrs Adenuga calls out to him.
    He half turns, gives her the thumbs-up, nods to Marcus, then me, then turns back, still wailing.
    She might as well have told him she had just come back from the supermarket. It’s cool with me.
    ‘How’s Leah?’ she asks him, holding a remote that I assume she’s pressed to cut off the sound to his headphones.
    Marcus’s dad swivels fully. He shows off a baby, asleep in his lap. ‘New nappy, new bottle, what’s not to like?’ he says, then he taps his headphones. Mrs Adenuga blips the remote again and the wailing restarts.
    ‘What he puts poor Leah through,’ Mrs Adenuga mutters. She tells us to come into the kitchen. Marcus says he is starving but I’m not hungry. Mrs Adenuga makes a baked beans and ham omelette. She gives us half each. Marcus nods for me to follow him with my plate.
    ‘Where are you going?’ his mum calls out to his back.
    ‘Mars,’ he answers without missing a beat. His mum does a dramatic sigh. Marcus ignores it or doesn’t hear it. He steers me through the living room and upstairs. On the landing we turn left into a room. He flicks a switch. It’s his bedroom. We sit on the bed, eating. His room is nice. It has that boy smell. Lots of bar-bells and weights on the floor. Pictures of hip hop stars on the walls. A roll-on deodorant is on the floor next to a heap of clothes. School books next to the clothes. The floor is his shelving. Only when he’s finished eating his half of the omelette and then mine does he ask a question, except it’s not really a question.
    ‘Not hungry?’
    I shrug.
    He shuffles up next to me on the edge of his bed and puts an arm round me. Which is nice.
    ‘What was you robbing?’ he asks, curious.
    ‘Leave it,’ I say. ‘I’m tired.’
    ‘Here,’ he says. He turns his face into mine and kisses me. I kiss him back, a little. Then one of his hands starts roving.
    I trap it under mine. ‘Marcus, don’t bother.’
    He shrugs, but there’s still mischief in his eyes. I realise I’m in his bedroom, on his bed, and he’s probably got ideas. I fish out my phone and try the house line again. My brother picks up.
    ‘Oh, it’s you,’ my brother says, disappointed. ‘What do you want?’
    ‘Is Mum or Dad in?’ I ask.
    ‘Both,’ he says. He puts the phone down before I can say another word.
    Meanwhile, Marcus is leaning in for another kiss.
    I go downstairs and Marcus’s mum phones me a taxi. ‘Are you alright, darling?’ she says.
    That has me crying again. Mrs Adenuga holds me in her arms. ‘We’ve been a very silly girl today, haven’t we?’ she sighs.
    I nod and sniffle. ‘I let you down.’
    ‘You let yourself down,’ she says.
    Marcus has turned on the TV and he flicks to the football results.
    Twenty minutes later I’m back at home. Neither Mum nor Dad