Chapter 1

Chapter 5

Malcolm didn't see Trevor all afternoon, with English not being his strong point Trevor found himself in the huts at the rear of the playground. This didn’t help his friend’s social standing at all.


Malcolm waited at the school gates. They’d planned to go to the estate and watch the Friday afternoon drunks being thrown out of the dog and duck. Normally, Friday nights produced a good fight, as the men on the estate did their best to drink away their pay or dole money.


A tide of children rushed out of the school gates eager for home, Malcolm scanned the crowd for his friend but saw no sign of him. The playground emptied; Malcolm glanced at his watch, he’d usually be here by now. Two boys from the second year still dressed in their rugby kit walked past, Malcolm recognize one of them.


“Alright kev, you seen Trevor?”


“Yer, he left sharpish, couldn’t wait to get out of the place.”


“Ok, Cheers…See ya.”


“Stood ya up as he?” The boy said with a snigger.


Malcolm didn’t say anything as the boys turned and walked off. He checked his watch again, quarter to four. The bus went at ten too. He picked up his bag and started to walk to the bus stop.


Trevor didn’t rush off like the other kids, he’d never be too eager to get home.


Malcolm rounded the corner into the high street. The long line of busy shops stretched into the distance. Cars cued and beeped their horns as if it would make any difference to the gridlock they found themselves in.


The air sat heavy with exhaust fumes but Malcolm had long since got used to the smog. In the descending dusk, he didn’t notice the four boys stood across the road.


One of them nudged his friend.


“Ere, that’s the fucker who split your lip innit?”


They looked over at Malcolm, picked up their bags and scanned the traffic for a gap.


Malcolm placed his bag on the floor and peered up the road for the bus, unaware of the trouble making its way towards him.


He looked up, and a shot of fear hit him.


“Fuck,” he said to himself.


The gang made their way through the traffic, Malcolm had nowhere to go. If he ran they’d catch him, he could see his bus, but the traffic had it locked in place, too far to run for.


He stood square in the bus stop entrance making himself look as big as he could.


The boy who’s lip he’d split rushed at him. He landed two large palms on Malcolm’s chest.


The shock took his breath away and he flew backwards and hit the shelter wall.


“Your friends not about then?”


One of the gang lent up against the bus stop wall next to Malcolm, he chewed a match and looked him up and down.


Malcolm kept quiet.


The boy with the lip looked at his friend, raised his eyebrows and smirked.


Malcolm backed away, he hadn’t seen the other black kid enter at the other end of the shelter. He felt two large arms wrap around him, he looked for help, but knew not to expect any.


A fist landed on his jaw and a stab of pain shot through his face, the bitter taste of blood filled his mouth as his lip split.


“There ya fucker, you owe us more though I reckon, check his pockets.”


“I aint got nothing,” said Malcolm.


A thick arm crossed his throat and stale sweat filled his nose, it tightened, making it hard to breath. He put his hands up and tried free the grip, but couldn’t. He lost his balance reducing his ability to fight back even further.


Two of the gang stepped forward and began to search his pockets.


“Ain’t got nothing…?”One of them said, “What’s this then?”


The boy pulled a packed of twenty Benson and a five pound note from his jacket.


“Fuckin’ hell, that’s more than I get of my old man in a whole year.” One of them said.


“Yer, he gives you several in the asre though don’t he,” another one said.


If Malcolm hadn’t been on the receiving end of a beating he would have found it funny. But still struggling to breath and feeling the pain in his face, the comedic timing passed him by.


The thought of these Black cunts taking his stuff hurt more than the physical pain. He hoped the skinheads would turn up like knights in shining armour and help him kick the shit out the bastards… But they didn’t.


The others laughed, “Fuck off, he’s too busy fuckin your sister and your mum”


They all laughed again. The boy who’d found the cigarettes peeled off the cellophane top and offered them around. Malcolm struggled to get free.


“You alright there chalky, you look a bit short of breath”


“Fuck off coon!” He said. As soon as the words left his mouth a sharp pain landed in his stomach as a large fist found its mark. The arm around his throat disappeared and he dropped to his knees coughing.


“FUCK YOU WHITEY,” said the boy with the cigarettes as he thumped a boot into Malcolm’s ribs. He winced as the boot landed and fell on his side. The smell of urine repulsed him as his head found the corner of the shelter, but the pain insured he stay put.


“Ha, he landed in my piss” One of them said, “Come on, we’ll get some white lightning with this.”


Malcolm lay in agony, and watched the boots disappear.


At least they’ve gone, he thought as he saw a pair of brown slippers approach…‘What the…’


“You alright sonny?”


Malcolm looked up and saw a man crouched over him. The thoughts crossed his mind, ‘why didn’t you fucking help you bastard? And why you wearing slippers?’ But then he looked at the man, he must have been seventy, what the hell could he have done against a gang of wogs.


“Come on, no one should spend more time than they need to with their face in piss.”


Malcolm couldn’t help it, he sniggered, but a wave of pain shot through his guts, stifling the laugh.


“Ahhh.”


“It’s all right, you don’t look too bad, I’ve seen worse” The words reassured Malcolm as he felt himself being helped to his feet. “Sorry son, I wanted to help, I feel terrible, those fuckin wogs are taking over the place, I remember when…”


Malcolm could see the man’s lips moving but getting up had made him dizzy.


He bent over in the corner and threw up, the vomit mixing with the smell of urine to produce an almighty stench, thought it didn’t stop the man who seemed to be used to bad smells. Still in full flow reminiscing about the good old days, the man carried on regardless, Malcolm thought he heard the Krays’ being mentioned.


He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, leaving a trail of vomit and blood down its length. Malcolm could hear the man still going on about how things used to be. He noticed the bus pull up.


“Thanks mate,” he said, leaving the stranger standing in the shelter with his memories as he limped on the bus.


“Shit” He said as he realised he had no money.


“Don’t worry,” said the shaven headed bus driver, “I saw what the bastards did…I also know where they live, don’t worry, they’ll get theirs.”


Being in too much pain to care Malcolm stumbled into the first seat he came to.


He looked out of the window as the bus crawled as fast as it could through the snarling traffic.


He focused on his face in the reflection, he touched his lip and winced at the sharp pain. His blue eyes flicked over his reflection. His blond swept back hair stuck to the side of his head with a mixture of rain and piss, he’d never wished for a shower so much.


He focused away to the street. London had changed; even he’d seen it in the short time he’d been there. Local shops being taken over, a different black face each time he went in. Sari shops, one after another the windows filled with exotic dresses of all colours, Halal meat, what the hell is halal meat?


Malcolm noticed the disapproving glances from the people on the bus. ‘fuckin great, I’m the one who got beaten up you know, I’m the Vitim...not them


He went back to the window and the view into the busy street, Datsun cherries filled with people spewed smoke into the evening air, but what did he care, he’d be gone soon enough.