Sitting in a single room with a small log-fired stove. A tin bath filled with dirty water, half-washed socks dangling over the edge as his mum knitted on a rocking chair while a candle flickered behind her. A true northern way of life, with nothing to do and nowhere to go. No skate parks, not that he could skateboard anyway. No arcades of slot machines. No markets taking over roads once or twice a week. Only a deathly silence decided for him.
The slip-road curled back on itself and Frederick could already see the signs of neglect. Of inbreds wrecking things because they had nothing else in their lives and didn't have the intelligence to find something to do. A burned-out wreck of a car, the flames scouring the paint from the vehicle and the sign beside it, most of the letters burned away, leaving only the word 'shire' untouched. They'll be blaming that on the black boy before long.
Branches slapped against the windscreen as Mum navigated the twisting, turning roads that led ever deeper into the wilds of the countryside, further and further away from civilisation. Further and further away from anything that resembled normal. He doubted they even had normal tv here, let alone broadband good enough for streaming his favourite shows. Not even good enough to play his games, one of the few ways he could stay in touch with his bruvs.
A river curled in close to the thin road, almost touching it, following the same direction for a while before sweeping away once more. He turned his head, watching it pass into the trees, certain he had seen a duck, or something, swimming along on the surface. Then, without warning, the trees broke and he saw his first glimpse of the town where his mum had said they would start a new life.
A supermarket. All corrugated, white metal and windows. The big sign on the side stating they opened twenty-four hours for shopping. At least that was one normal thing. A car park stretching out beside the building held dozens of cars and not a tractor among them. A petrol station appeared tagged on as an afterthought and a fast food burger place followed on from there. More big shops, some with names he knew from back home, but not making him feel at home.
More driving. Weaving around streets that ranged from familiar red brick terraces to grey stoned cottages, as though they didn't know what kind of houses they wanted to live in. Houses that crept almost to the kerbs. Houses with small front gardens. Tv aerials and solar panels on roofs showed that they weren't completely stuck in the last century, but he still didn't hold out hope.
Kids raced around on bikes, or hung about at bus stops, all watching the van as it passed and not a one of them looked like him. Happy families of muslims walked together, showing the place had at least some diversity, down the high street that had more shops closed than open, metal shutters that hadn't moved in years in front of dirty windows that hid the insides of premises that crumbled and rotted from neglect and deprivation.
They had that back in London, of course, but it felt different here. In London there was always the promise that someone would open up that little shop on the corner, that the local high street would have a burst of activity sooner rather than later. Here, it looked as though the whole town had come to accept that it was dying and no-one cared.
The van bumped up onto the kerb as his mum took the turn too tightly and Frederick heard their precious belongings tumble about in the back as they now headed up a steep hill, away from the town centre. Of course they wouldn't live anywhere near the only piece of something even close to civilisation. Up and around, into a range of streets that weren't packed as tight as those in the town. Trees lined the roads. Old trees sat in green, grass verges, the houses set far back, hedges and walls marking the individual territories of the people inside.
Before reaching a line of shops, set upon a triangular parcel of empty land, the van veered off, down yet another road and, after only passing one house on either side, the van came to a halt. Frederick could tell which house they were moving into, seeing no curtains or blinds in the windows. His mum had said they were going to live in a house, but he hadn't expected it to have gardens at the front and the back.
They had lived in a flat, back home. Two bedrooms, a living room, kitchen off the living room, bathroom and toilet next to the front door. That was all they needed. Now they had a house, but without Dad, it would feel even more empty. But Dad had already moved out months before. This place was only for Frederick and Mum. Unbuckling the seat belt, he let it roll back and leaned down between his feet, picking up the ball he used to kick against walls back home.
"I'm going to look at the garden." He'd opened the van door already, dropping two-footed to the pavement and bouncing the ball.
"Be quick. I need a hand unloading." His mum had to shout to catch his attention. "And don't be annoying ..."
He missed the last part, but it probably wasn't important. The gate had squeaked as he opened it and it crashed back against the post as he let it go. A path, running down the side of house, led to the back garden and Frederick couldn't believe how big it was. It stretched away to end in yet more trees, as though the area didn't have enough trees as it was, and it was too green. Everywhere was too green.
A fence separated this garden from the one next door and, over the top of the fence, he could see the roof of a shed that even had solar panels on top. Maybe not so uncivilised after all. He bounced the ball on the grass, catching it on his foot and sending it looping away. Not a skateboarder, or much of a footballer, either. But, then again, it was only a light, plastic ball. Not the best to play keepy-ups.
Still, only here for seconds and he'd already invaded the neighbour's garden. Popping his head above the fence, he saw a filthy old man reaching down for the ball, picking it up with fat, weird fingers. Here it came. Northerners meeting black people for the first time. He got it all the time, back home and, up here in The North, he expected worse.
"Here, pal!" Frederick had no idea why he said that. He'd never called anyone 'pal' in his life, let alone a grubby, likely smelly old Northern bloke. "Give me my ball back, eh?"
He'd probably given the old fella the shock of his life. Now he'd say something about the colour of Frederick's skin. Any minute ...
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Mr Dibbs Fixes Bikes
सामान्य साहित्यAfter his parents' divorce, Frederick Douglas finds himself in a wholly unfamiliar part of the country. Gaining friends proves difficult in an area where people like he and his mother are very different from those around them. When he sees his new n...
