The Dirty South by Alex Wheatle

Noel’s Mum, for a day. Then she’s got a right to be vexed. ‘I ain’t lying, Mum! Brothers I went to school with are on that but not me.’
    â€˜You better not be lying, Dennis. Selling weed can lead you to all kinds of crap you’d never believe. I still don’t understand why these boys attacked you. Were you teasing them, Dennis? You know I never liked you teasing other kids at school. I taught you to appreciate good clothes if you have them but
not
to go on like a puppy show in a sufferer’s face. Didn’t I tell you that, Dennis?’
    â€˜Yeah you did tell me. I don’t do them things anymore, Mum.’
    She then caught me in a fierce gaze, searching my eyes for any clues of insincerity. The intensity of her stare forced the back of my head deeper into my pillow. ‘I’ll ask you again, Dennis. Are you dealing?’
    â€˜No, Mum. It’s like I said, I’m not on that.’
    Suddenly she got up and went towards the door. ‘I’ll check on you in about an hour. Try to get some rest.’
    I let out a long sigh. Then I worked my mind over to see if I had left any incriminating evidence in my room. Rizla papers, half cigarettes and little bags of skunk weed for my private use. I’m sure I had been careful. I didn’t even dare smoke fat-heads in my room when everybody was in bed. Maybe Davinia said something. She once caught me smoking a zoot in the park when I was with Noel. No, she wouldn’t say anything. She knows what’s good for her.
    For the next few days I was expecting Mum to burst into my room with an oz of weed in her hand and my fingerprints all over it. She never did but my suspicion of her knowing something deepened because she was being extra-nice to me. She even bought me a new mobile! It was much better than the old one. It was slimand cool and didn’t look like a brick. I wasted no time in showing Davinia my new toy and she went off in a sulk chatting something about I didn’t deserve it. I couldn’t wait to show it off to the poor-assed ghetto kids in youth clubs.
    That same day, Noel came around in the evening. As Mum showed him in she was being over-polite to him, asking how Cara was and the rest of the family and all that shit. Mum was always extra-polite when she didn’t like someone. As for Noel he looked like someone had just farted in his face. Brooding was an understatement… I took him upstairs to the privacy of my room ’cos it was obvious he had some shit on his mind.
    As I closed the door behind me, Noel took two hundred and fifty pounds out of his back jeans pocket and threw it on my bed. It was wrapped neatly in an elastic band. ‘Your share,’ he said. ‘While you’ve been honey-trapped I’ve still been on road making dollars.’
    â€˜Thanks for that, bruv,’ I said. ‘Appreciate it.’
    Refusing to sit down as he usually did in the chair by my bed, Noel kinda fidgeted on the spot, looking uneasy. ‘Spill it out, bruv,’ I urged. ‘What’s on your mind?’
    He pointed a finger at me, stopped shuffling his feet and said, ‘You!’
    â€˜What do you mean, me?’
    â€˜People been chatting,’ he explained. ‘How you got honey-trapped by some bitch from Peckham ends. It’s not good for our rep, bruv. Some brothers been laughing about it, saying that you and me are pussies. I ain’t tolerating that.’
    â€˜Let them chat, bruv,’ I said. ‘What do they know?’
    â€˜Is that all you can say? Let them chat? Do you think we’re gonna have any mileage in the skunk game if man on road thinks we’re pussies? Every Tom, Dick and Jezebel are gonna test us, gonna try and jack us. And I ain’t stepping on road with that shit over us. I want my rep back.’
    â€˜I’ve been thinking, bruv,’ I said. ‘Maybe it’s time for me to get out of this business. We’ve had a