Ordinary Thunderstorms

24

“THE SUN IS IN THE SKY.”

“The sun is in the sky.”

Adam rearranged the big letters and spelt them out for Ly-on.

“The sky is blue.”

“The sky is blue.”

“Now you do it — do ‘The sun is in the sky’ again.”

Ly-on began to shift the letters around to spell out the new words. Mhouse sat in her chair watching the two of them sitting on the floor in front of the TV — which wasn’t on, she realised: that was what was odd — no TV. She liked the idea of John 1603 teaching Ly-on to read — it was important, reading and writing, and she wished she could read better than she did — she didn’t need writing so much, but she had no time to spare.

“I’m go down shops,” she said. John looked up and smiled.

“What going to get Ly-on present?” Ly-on said.

“You just stick to your…” she couldn’t think of the word. “You just do what John tells you.”

She went into her room, took her leather jacket out of the wardrobe and slipped it on. She liked having a man in the flat, even if he was just a lodger. Brought in extra cash too — three weeks now, sixty quid. She liked coming in from work, finding John and Ly-on at their…studying, that was the word. They was studying hard and Ly-on looked like he could nearly read. And Ly-on liked him, even better. Nice man, John 1603.

She walked through The Shaft, heading for the high street, saying hello to the few people she recognised. She was in a good mood, she realised, smiling to herself. There was some sun today, as well—‘The sun is in the sky’, how hard was that? She could read that. “The sky is blue today,” she said out loud, seeing the letters in her head, sort of — she could write that, almost. Just needed a helping hand from John and she’d—

“Hoi, Mhouse!”

She looked round. Mohammed sat in his Primera at the kerb, passenger door open. He beckoned her over and she stepped inside.

“Not seen you for ages, Mo. Been away?”

“Up north, seeing my cousins.”

“That’s nice. Y’all right?”

“No. Not fucking all right. No way. I was keeping me head down.” Mohammed told her about his encounter with Bozzy and this other geezer in the car park, a ten-ton heavy, he said, fucking scary.

“Jeez,” she said. “What’s it all about?”

“They was asking questions about that night you and me took that mim to Chelsea.”

Mhouse felt a little creep of dread inch up the nape of her neck.

“So who was this heavy guy? Friend of Bozzy?”

“Nah. He wallop Bozzy. I don’t know — I never seen him before. Thing was, I keep you out of it, Mhouse. I never say you name.”

“Thanks, Mo. That was good. I owe you.”

“That’s the point, Mhouse. You do owe me — one raincoat. Fucking Bozzy stamps it in a oil, then he sets light it.” Mohammed’s face registered his profound loss. “My Blueberry raincoat — he set it on fire.”

Mhouse rummaged in her handbag and gave him a £10 note.

“It worth a hundred quid, Mhouse, easy. And I keep you name out of it.”

“I ain’t got a hundred, Mo.”

“I’m well short, Mhouse. Couldn’t work up north, could I? Need a hundred. Quick, like.”

“I can’t give it you this week. What about next month? I have to pay Mr Q tomorrow.”

“What am I meant to do, Mhouse? I skint — my pockets is hungry. Maybe Bozzy give me some—”

“I’ll get it for you next week.”

“Monday.”

“Monday. No prob.”

She stepped out of the car, shivering slightly, conscious of how lucky she had been. Mohammed wasn’t lying because otherwise Bozzy and his crew would have come calling. Best to pay Mo his hundred, keep him happy. John 1603 was making a difference but it would take five weeks of rent to pay back Mohammed and she owed Mr Quality and she owed Margo — almost everything she made on the shore was going to them…

She walked down Jamaica Road in thoughtful mood. She could deal with Bozzy and his junkie pals — Mr Q would see them off — but who was this new bloke, the ‘ten-ton heavy’? What did he have to do with anything? They must be looking for John 1603—so maybe she should kick him out. Then she thought: he’s been staying with me for three weeks — they don’t know where he is or what he looks like, obviously. So why should she kick him out? — he brought in money, he bought food and drink, he was teaching Ly-on to read and Ly-on liked him. Fuck it — pay Mo his hundred, somehow, and that would be that.

At the check-out desk in PROXI-MATE she found Mrs Darling in front of her.

“Hello, love,” Mrs Darling said. “You don’t half eat a lot of bananas. Not in pod, are you?”

“No. No, it’s Ly-on. It’s all he wants. Mashed banana, please, Mum. Morning, night—”

“Little monkey, eh? Not seen much of him, lately. Don’t need no babysitting, then?”

“I got this lodger now. From the church. John 1603.”

“John 1603?…”

“He’s teaching Ly-on to read.” Mhouse stacked her goods on the rubber conveyor belt: rum, sugar, bananas, white bread, milk, biscuits, crisps, chocolate, forty Mayfair Thins.

“Is that the bloke with the beard?” Mrs Darling asked. “I seen him around.”

“That’s him. ‘Blackbeard’, I call him.”

“Yeah. And I seen him down the church. Must be nice for little Ly-on.”

“Yeah. They get on real good.”

“He’s at church most nights.”

“Who? John?”

“Bishop Yemi’s got his eye on him. He’s devout.”

“What?”

“He believes. A true believer, and Bishop Yemi thinks he’s well clever, also.”

“Oh, he’s clever, all right. Clever-clogs.”

Mhouse paid for her provisions and bagged them up, amazed as ever at how much everything cost. That was her cleaned out again and John had already paid her this week in advance. How was she meant to find Mohammed’s hundred when she was spending like there was no tomorrow?

♦

That night Mhouse tapped on John’s door — it was late, just gone midnight — tapped on his door, gently, with her fingernails. Ly-on was asleep, she’d given him an extra half Somnola at supper. She heard John say ‘come in’ and she pushed the door open.

“It’s just me,” she said, needlessly, as he switched the light on. The mattress was in the middle of the room, surrounded by her cardboard boxes. John had bought a small lamp so he could read in bed.

“What is it?” he said, looking at her a little blearily. “Everything OK?”

“I was a bit lonely,” she said, and pulled off her long T — shirt. “Mind if I pop in beside you?”

She didn’t wait for his answer, nipping back the blanket and sliding in beside him. He was naked — good. She put her arms around him and snuggled up against him. “Lovely and warm,” she said. “Warm like toast.” She kissed his chest. “I was feeling a bit lonely.”

“Mhouse,” he said. “Please. This is a bad idea. What about Ly-on?”

“Spark out,” she said, reaching down and finding him hardening fast. “Somebody thinks it’s a good idea.”

She found his mouth with hers and their tongues touched, she felt his hands on her breasts. He was trembling.

“Just one thing, John,” she said. “Before we go any further. It’s forty pounds, normal. But for you — twenty. And you don’t need no condom.”

“All right,” he said, a kind of gasp in his voice. “Yeah, anything.”

“Deal?”

“Deal.”