Martha set a meal of mackerel and maize on the table in front of Ez. She sat down and watched him eat, her elbows on the table, her chin resting on her hands.
Ez took several mouthfuls. He said, “You not eatin’?”
“I ate earlier.”
Ez nodded. He glanced up at Martha and saw she was still watching him.
Martha said, “So how was it?”
“OK.”
“You like the others?”
“Mr Reynolds is the supervisor. Jason is the other cleaner.”
Martha said, “You get on?”
Between mouthfuls, Ez replied, “I get on fine.” He paused. “Where’s Stevie?”
“He’s out.”
“Not with that bad crowd?”
“Maybe not,” Martha said. “He tell me different.”
“Some fellows from West Kingston living round Buckle Street. Northampton estate. Some real bad boys. Seen them on the streets. Easy money.” He moved mackerel onto his fork with his knife. “Maybe afterwards, I go take a look for Stevie.”
Martha put a restraining hand on his elbow.
Ez watched her hand, the pale fingernails. He always liked the way the flesh sat on her fingers, firm.
Martha said, “I know where he is.”
“Where?”
“At the hairdresser’s.” She paused. “Biziou’s.”
“Getting a haircut?”
Martha smiled. “No. Learnin’.”
“Learnin’?”
“Learnin’. Takin’ up a new job, like you.”
Ez’s fork hovered.
“Stevie?”
Martha nodded. “It’s a good trade.”
Ez said, “He don’t play football no more.”
“Ez.” Martha’s fingers seemed to caress his arm. “Steve’s good at football, but he’s not so good. It’s not an easy life.”
“Application,” Ez said. He watched her hand retreat, almost with regret, then he returned to his eating. Martha seemed about to leave the table. He felt conciliatory.
“He’s good,” Ez said. “He could be something. The best in his youth club. Nothing to stop him. One day maybe he play for a club, maybe Arsenal.”
“Ez, don’t make Stevie do what you didn’t do.”
“He’s different,” Ez said. “I had a wife and kid, responsibilities. He got none. He could still do it.”
“Training, day in day out, for his father’s ambition.”
When he had finished, Martha said, “You want some more?”
Ez shook his head.
“I go make some coffee.”
Ez watched as she got up and went to the cooker. He glanced down at the table in thought. After a while, he pushed his plate away from him. He had wanted to say something about the work, about his consternation and doubt.
“How your day?” he called out. She worked part time at the social services department at Lambeth, doing clerical work. The extra income was useful.
“Not so bad.”
He could see Martha’s back through the kitchen door as she rinsed plates while waiting for the kettle to boil. By the poise of her neck and the angle of her head he could tell that she was thinking about something. She was not usually so uncommunicative. He knew that the subject of Stevie affected her too.
Ez hung up his coat and hat. He put on his green overall. At the end of the room Reynolds was talking to Jason, outlining an object with his hands. Jason nodded in greeting to Ez over Reynolds’ shoulder.
Occasional customers moved back and forth from the urinals. Sometimes the door of a cubicle banged.
Ez picked up a pail with a small bristly brush and some cakes of disinfectant. In another bucket he had placed a pair of large tongs.
Approaching the urinals, Ez stopped at each one. Using the tongs, he lifted the old urine-streaked cakes of disinfectant and dropped them carefully into one of the buckets. Then he scrubbed the urinal with the bristly brush. When he had finished, he picked up a new cake of disinfectant and placed it in each urinal.
A tall, stooped man puffed softly with the effort of carrying a large shopping bag. He was standing crouched over himself like a question mark. Ez had to move around him.
Ez repeated the process on the next urinal. Removing the old cake of disinfectant, he began to scrub the enamel walls.
The man said cheerily, “New here?”
Ez finished scrubbing and reached for a cake of disinfectant. “Not long.”
The man said, pleasantly enough, “Always something new to learn, isn’t there?”
Ez nodded.
The man coughed, shifted in his space. He zipped himself up, then reached for the heavy paper bag.
Ez watched him walk through the turnstile. He went back to work.
During the break, Reynolds said to Ez, “You have a family?”
The three of them, Ez, Reynolds, and Jason, were seated at the table. Steam rose from their tea.
“A wife and kid,” Ez said.
“How old your kid?”
Ez blew across the surface of the tea. “Seventeen.”
Reynolds nodded. He sipped his tea, put it down, added another spoonful of sugar, then raised it and sipped again.
Reynolds said, “I got two.”
“That so?”
“Grown up now.”
Ez nodded.
Reynolds indicated Jason with his head.
Reynolds winked at Ez. Jason was leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. He seemed locked in his own thoughts.
Ez said to Jason, “Jason? Married too?”
Jason was quiet. Reynolds interceded. “Jason got two.”
“Two children?”
“Two wives,” Reynolds commented. He chuckled. Ez glanced toward Jason. Jason seemed as taciturn as ever, sipping his tea.
Reynolds said, “He leave one wife in Kingston. He come here. He marry another. Wife from Kingston also come. That why he turn Rasta.”
“Rasta?”
“Rasta can take more than one woman.”
Reynolds appeared mightily amused at this legerdemain. He joshed Jason affectionately.
“Ol’