Two

On average, eight hundred and fifty car crashes take place on Romford road every year. It’s one of the longest stretching roads in Newham and one of the most dangerous in all London. It houses one of London’s red-light districts, where just a few nights a year it’s said to be busier than the red-light district of Amsterdam, which isn’t surprising. We lived just one junction off it and have done so since we were young. 

Not much is said about things around here besides car accidents, small petty crime, and where to find some of the finest ethnic restaurants and flavours in the country. You wouldn’t much hear about how deprived it was, how though heavily policed, many lived in fear.  Who wouldn’t live in fear in a place where one in every twenty-five people are homeless.

“MA! AARON’S HERE,” Elsa, my little sister, shouts back into the house.

I could hear her from down the street as I ran as fast as I could, busting a gut while trying not to step on any of the used needles or slip embarrassingly on any of the used condoms that litter the street. Some people certainly knew how to have a good time here, but those things weren’t really for us, well not the needles anyway; we had the fear of God instilled in us.

Elsa was throwing a half-full plastic bag into the bin outside when she spotted me down the street. It was a November, dark and about eight-thirty in the evening or ‘about half-eight in the evening’ as we would say. She clearly had no regard for the neighbours, but she knew I might be in for an earful once I entered the house. Her shouts foiled any plans I had to regather myself, replay out my ‘sorry I’m late’ excuse one final time before I entered the house. No, she wanted fireworks.

“Sorry I’m late…for dinner…mum,” I said as I attempt to regather my breath. 

“I got caught up,” those probably weren’t the best choice of words.

My excuse and clear effort to get home as soon as possible didn’t much please her. The kitchen sink was full of used pots, plates, and pans, and the house smelt fragrant with cooked seasoning and spices. Mum had clearly put a lot of effort into making the evening special for everyone and I missed it.

“You said you’d be home on time this time,” Mum said.

“I’m sorry I got caught up, and the bus took forever to arrive.” That wasn’t a lie.

“There’s always something,” says Mum as she clears some more used plates. 

“Your plate’s in the microwave.”

The thing about Mum is that through her life experiences of fighting and overcoming so many obstacles, she’d mastered the arts of going either all Warrior Queen on your ass where you’d certainly feel a beating, or she’d remain perfectly still, perfectly calm and unaffected by whatever was going on. From personal experience, I knew which one to fear most.

My sister was hoping for the Warrior Queen, which I think I would have preferred also. Perfectly calm and supposedly unfazed mum just left you feeling otherworldly, like you had hurt yourself. With one look, she could kill you with sheer guilt and disappointment. The type of guilt that stays with you much longer than any beating or shouting could ever do. It was like some superpower where your soul is picked up and thrown off a cliff.

“What! Mum, you’re not even going to yell at him,” Elsa complained. 

“That’s the two nights we’ve planned for a family this week and Aaron has missed them both.”

“For good reason,” I reply before proceeding to close the microwave door and pressing the start button four times until it began counting down from two minutes. That’s how we did it around here; even if it cost you one extra click, it was faster, so why waste time.

“Oh, and what reason is that? Hanging around your weirdo gamer, movie friends again, or that new girlfriend of yours?”

“Girlfriend!” Mum’s surprised. “I thought you and Kayla just broke up.”

“Yes mum, ignore Elsa, and my friends aren’t weirdos.” 

“Whatever!” replies Elsa.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP! Saved by the microwave, I think to myself.

“Where’s Ivan?” I ask.

“Sitting room with Damo and Scarlett,” Mum replies.

No wonder there were more than usual Nike air force ones at the foot of the front door tripping me up as I ran into the house earlier, and of course, Scarlett would be here, my sister’s inseparable best friend.

“The food smells amazing, mum, thank you,” I say as I exit the kitchen.

As I began making my way to the sitting room, I noticed the front door still wide open. In my panic on arrival earlier, I must have forgotten to close it. As I take a forkful bite from my plate, the white and blue frame of a passing police car catches my eye as it glides from right to left beyond the doorway. Slow enough for the driving officer’s and my eyes to meet. I recognised the officer, and I knew he recognised me too. 

I close the door.