“I suppose so,” I said. “Unless you wanna give me my own place. I’ll be good on my lonesome. Dunno why you’re always munching your knickers about it when I bring it up. When I’m fifteen I’ll meet a sweet bruv and we can make a life—”
Louise had her really face back on.
“How many times do I have to tell you, Naomi?” she said. “You’re a minor. The local council are responsible for you until you reach eighteen.”
“They didn’t call me a minor when I looked after my dad!”
Shaking her head, Louise stepped away. She jabbed the redial button on her phone. “Hello, it’s Louise again.”
It was still on speaker.
“Hi again, Louise.”
“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate, Colleen, but I have two emergency foster carers on holiday and another who’s about to give birth. It’s not a problem that my case is Caucasian, is it? Her name’s Naomi. Naomi Brisset.”
“Naomi,” repeated Colleen. “Nice name.”
I curled a grin. Of course it’s a nice name. My mum gave me it.
“Tell her I was named after Naomi Watts,” I said. “She was in King Kong and a horror movie.”
Louise ignored me. “Will Tony be all right with, er, you know?” she asked.
“Course,” Colleen replied. “Won’t bother him at all. He’ll be cool.”
“You sure?” Louise pressed again. “It’s just that Tony has always made a point about wanting to foster black children.”
“He wants to help all kids,” Colleen insisted.
“Okay, Colleen.” Louise breathed out relief. “We’ll be around in half an hour or so.”
“Hold on, hold on,” Colleen said. “Any dietary requirements I should know about? Remember last year? You sent us that kid who wouldn’t eat rice, potatoes, meat, or anything with seasoning in it.”
“Naomi’s not fussy about her food. I have her file with me.”
“I don’t like mince,” I called out. “Reminds me of worms. No shepherd’s pie either. Oh, and I don’t like macaroni cheese. That reminds me of yellow worms.”
Louise offered me a seal your gums glare.
“Looking forward to meeting her,” said Colleen after a pause.
We returned to McD’s. Louise sipped on her coffee and sank into her seat. “Seems like Colleen’s looking forward to meeting you,” she said.
“Why wouldn’t she?” I grinned. “I’m lovable.”
I hugged my meerkat tight.
chapter two
A New Hope
We burned rubber along the Ashburton circular. I stared out the car window looking at road signs. Monk’s Orchard, Spenge-on-Leaf, Crongton, Notre Dame, Cranerley, Smeckenham. We turned off at the Shrublands exit. I thought about my dad. I wondered what he’d think about me staying with a black family. He wouldn’t care. After all, he sank liquor with anyone. Once, I had to drag his alcoholic ass out of Lord Jazzbo’s, a cocktail bar that had a samba night on a Thursday, a disco night on a Friday, and a reggae night on a Saturday. They had this speciality drink called Rumwave. Dad loved it. I sampled it once too. It gave me a double-bitch of a hangover the next morning. That was the last liquor I ever had.
We reached Shrublands.
Flowers niced up the roundabouts. Four-by-fours sweetened up the wide roads. Cats slept on fence posts. Hedges were trimmed neatly.
“Black people live here?” I asked.
“Yes, they do,” Louise replied. “The Goldings are a nice family. They’ve done well for themselves.”
“They didn’t make their Gs from selling dragon hip pills, did they?”
“No! They certainly didn’t. And don’t even go there with that one, Naomi.”
“All right,” I said. “Just jokes.”
“I hope it’s just jokes, Naomi.”
Louise’s eyebrows had hardened. I could tell she was getting proper frustrated at the whole deal.
“It won’t be too long you’ll be staying here so just bear with me,” she said. “I can’t have you there for too long anyway. The council machine will have me flying through hoops and asking me to fill in a million forms for that to happen.”
“Who’s in the council machine when they block the toilets?” I wanted to know.
Louise shook her head. “You don’t want to know,” she replied.
We pulled up outside this pretty house. The front lawn was well shaved. The white front door had gold numbers nailed into it. Twenty-three. Louise jabbed the doorbell. I can’t lie, my insides quaked. I took a few steps back. Here we go again.
The door opened. This neat-looking black woman appeared. Mid to late thirty-ish. I liked her peacock-colored earrings.
“Good to see you again,” said Colleen. “Please come in. Just boiled the kettle.”
At first, I kinda liked the idea of staying with a black family. But now I wasn’t feeling too sure.
“Naomi!” called Louise.
I stood on the spot studying Colleen for a long second before shuffling slowly toward the door. She had shoulder-length brown dreadlocks. Oh, good. Might be able to listen to some original dancehall tunes. She waved us into the house busting a grin. “What do you want to drink?” she asked. “Hot chocolate? Orange or apple juice? Coke? You hungry?”
She made me feel self-conscious. I took out my mobile although I didn’t know what to do with it. “I wanna coffee,” I replied. “Four sugars.”
“Three sugars,” cut in Louise. “Remember we made a deal?”
“But you didn’t give up the—”
“Not now,” Louise snipped my flow.
I pulled a screw you face.
“Come on then, Naomi,” said Louise. “Let’s get inside so Colleen can close the door. It’s getting a bit nippy.”
It was cold. I wanted to brag off my Grime Therapy T-shirt but I had to wear a hoodie over it.
I entered the hallway. I spotted two kids parked on the third stair. The younger one, a boy, giggled. He must’ve been Pablo. His name sounded like something you do with balloons. The older girl had her face between her hands. She must’ve been Sharyna. Pretty. She scoped my every move. I took in my surroundings. It wasn’t like my mum’s place. The amber-colored paint on the walls looked as if it had been rolled on just days ago. The hallway was grimeless and I could sniff floor polish. I didn’t recognize the black man in a framed picture with cheeks the size of melons. They needed another photograph to fit in his stretched trombone.
At the end of the hallway was the kitchen. A black man sat at the kitchen table. His shoulders were IMAX-screen broad. A tiger tattoo manned-up his forearm. I guessed he was Tony. Colleen invited Louise and me to park our butts. Tony stood up and smiled at me. One gold tooth. “Hi, my name is Tony,” he said. He reached out his hand. I looked at it like it was an escaped anaconda. My nerves spat like sausages on a too-high gas ring. I looked at his plate of dinner. I couldn’t recognize the food. Then I checked something on my phone.
Colleen reached for a biscuit tin on top of a cupboard. She took off the lid. “Anyone want