Glorious Goodwood Road



  Glorious Goodwood Road©

  Sara Yvonne Appleton-Adams

  Copyright 2014 by Sara Yvonne Appleton-Adams

  Chapter One

  “Welcome to the ten-thirty grudges match stakes at Glorious Goodwood Road in what promises to be a great race. The stakes held in honour of the champion chavs. It looks like Chicken Run is gonna be a non-starter. Coming in at five to two is Bad Boys, then Easy Girlz at ten to three, Beware the Pimp at eight to two and lastly in for a goring at odds of seven to one.”

  “Lester shut the fuck up and get off my fucking car before I gore your black arse with me foot.”

  “It’s me rostrum aks livs she knows innit livs?”

  That’s me, Olivia Rosamund Anderson, eighteen, five foot nine and Lester’s girl or at least that’s what I let him think. This is our patch on the great Leicester estate where most grudges are settled. The race was thought up by the previous top boy, as a way of earning money. Before this it was a fist fight, usually resulting in arrest, court then prison. This way the grudges are settled fairly amicably, though there’s always some resistance at the handing over stage. Today, it’s for Quad bikes, between Baz, his side-kick and the big D. Whoever loses forfeits their quad. I’m here with my two best-mates Shazza and Trace.

 

  “And there off! Baz has a good lead, but not far behind is Big D. What’s appenin ere? It looks like Baz’s boy got a curious case of chicken…”

  “Lester I won’t tell you again shut the fuck up.”

  That’s Christopher, in school we used to call him Christ, because he was always preaching about something. We all know Baz would win it, he had to. His reputation depended on it. Shazza’s the first to run to Baz but he doesn’t want a bitch or ho cramping his style. Personally I think Shazza’s wasting her time with Baz, but the BMW and ready cash are hard to resist. The sound of sirens means we have only a few minutes to get away. I know it’s the old whore in the corner flat who called the filth on us. I pick up the biggest brick and sling it at her window watching it smash to pieces. Lester grabs my hand and we run.

  “Faster you mad bitch, what the fuck you done?” We’re both still laughing as we run into the concrete maze, weaving our way in of the narrow passages and out like rabbits in a warren. As soon as I see my parents’ house I know we’re safe. Lester kisses me.

  “Not now Lester, I better get back. You know how the old woman gets if I’m late. I’ll text you.”

  Lester and me we never say bye or I love you, because we understand each other without saying a word.

  “Livvy hun is that you?” I don’t know why my mum always asks that. “How was university today, did you get lots of studying done?”

  “Yeah mum. Soz I’m late but…”

  “Yes not yeah and it’s sorry not soz. Leave the bolt off, your dad’s not back from work yet.”

  Every time I step inside the door I feel as though I’ve entered a time warp. The same lavender scent, the patterned carpets, the fading wallpaper that my mum wipes down with a sponge. The old wooden kitchen units with the brass fittings that my mum gets me to polish each week as part of my chores. The only modern appliance is the flat screen television that my father `procured.’

  “Hey mum, what you watching.” My mum always smiles at me as though it is the very first time she has ever seen me. That glint in her eyes contrasts the mass of white teeth against her dark skin tones.

  “It’s The Butler your dad got it for me for Valentines.

  “Do you want a cup of cocoa?”

  “Yes please darling. Livvy haven’t you got lectures tomorrow?”

  “Yes. But not until late morning.”

  I can hear my mobile chime and I know its Lester. I can’t tell my parents about him. If they ever learn who he is it would be the usual `talk’ about how hard they’ve tried to get me a good education so I can make something of myself. They see Lester as scum, someone who’d hold me back, get me pregnant and make my life a misery. I fill the cocoa in mum’s favourite mug that I decorated in school aged eight.

  “So when do we get to meet your posh university friends?

  “Well mum we’re all busy with lectures and studying.” A twang of guilt runs through me. I hate lying to her but what else could I do? I can’t bring my university friends to a council estate. My parents say that I should be proud of my heritage. But as I am about to find out this is not my heritage. It was fate who played a cruel hand in my shaping destiny.

  Chapter two

  “…now in the Merchant of Venice, Shylock the Jew and his kind are forced to live in a ghetto. Not the type of ghetto one would imagine today associated with squalor and deprivation. What Shakespeare writes about is a walled part of the city, the gates of which are locked each night. Remember this was a time of great prejudice against the Jewish community who were not allowed ownership of land and property or to trade. They were however, allowed to loan money. As loaning money in return for interest was anti-Christian the term usurping or usurper was applied further increasing the discrimination against the Jewish community…”

  This is me in my guise of student listening to Professor Sumner, an acknowledged expert in all things Shakespearean. I look at the faces and wonder what I have in common with any of them. Okay so I’m fair skinned and my light brown locks give me the appearance of a white-middle class student. I think about Lester, he calls uni’ `The Toffs’ Trough’ Perched here in these hallowed walls of learning I feel as though Goodwood Road and its inhabitants are a million miles away. I catch another glimpse of Simon. I always did like him in a pair of shorts and a tight shirt. They highlight his well toned body. I look down pretending to write but this time I know he is smiling at me.

 

  If left to make my own choices I would chose to study, music, drama or art. But my parents want a daughter with a BA Humanities degree. It goes without saying I’m expected to get a first. My mobile rings. I know its Lester and I also know that he has booked our usual room at the Ibis prompting me to phone my mum to tell her I have extra lectures and so won’t be back until late.

  Life holds few guarantees but on two things I can depend. The first is that my dad would be late picking me up from campus and the second Trace’s timing. The stupid bitch text me whilst I was in flagrante with Lester and when I don’t answer straight away she phones me. So I ignore her. I would phone her back now but I can see my dad in his Hackney cab. He’s on his mobile talking to my mum I hope, but I know from the softness of his facial features that it’s one of his women. Mum knows but she pretends that she doesn’t. In contrast to mum, dad looks much younger than his forty nine years.

  “Hey dad, hope you haven’t been waiting long.” He’s in a good mood. This usually means he’s on a promise.

  Hey babes. I just got here. How’s the course?” I know he’s still thinking about her.

  “It’s great dad.” This is so unfair. He has his girlfriends. Yet I can’t tell them about Lester. I can hear my mobile, its Trace again. I text to say I can’t talk so she text me back asking me to meet her at Goodwood.

  Chapter Three

  Even with the street lights on the place looks dark. There are a few lights on in the flats and the old terraces. I see the whore looking at me from behind the broken window, she moves away when I stare back at her. God only knows why Trace wants to meet me here at this hour of the night. My parents don’t know I’m here. I locked my bedroom door before jumping out of the window, onto the roof below and then over the neighbour’s fence before running out of the gate.

  “Hey Liv.” I’m startled but hide my fear. Trace looked different somehow.

  “Hey, what do you want to talk to me about?”

&n
bsp; “I’m pregnant.” No surprises there. There’s not a boy on the estate that she hasn’t been with. It’s earned the nickname - The Goodwood Road bike.

  “For fuck sake you could have told me this tomorrow.” The bitter cold makes me tense and irritable. “So whose is it do you know?” I can see her face change from anxious to smarmy.

  “It’s Lester’s.” I begin to laugh but the look in her face tells me she’s serious. I’m waiting for her to tell me it’s a joke but the smirk turns to a laugh.

  “You fucking bitch. I don’t believe you. You must be high on crack again.” I launch at her. She pushes me backwards.

  “Aks Lester then. Aks him how many times we dun it behind your back. He don’t luv ya.” I run at her again this time grabbing her hair and pushing her to the side. I use my whole body weight to push her to the ground.

  “I’m not asking Lester anything, we were together all afternoon. You’re a lying ho. Lester would never go with an ugly, fat bitch like you.” She attempts to raise her head so I push it down with my knee.

  “He don’t want ya. You’re a fucking coconut. Think you’re betta than me just cos your mama sent you for electriquotion lessons and you go college. Well your boy wants a real woman and now he’s gonna be a dad.” I lift myself of my former best friend, soon to be the mother of my ex-boyfriend’s kid. I can hear Trace cussing at me but I don’t look back. I just keep running. I can’t let her see me cry, blinded by the tears I keep running completely oblivious to people or traffic. I can’t remember the accident just the moments before and my time in hospital. Little did I know then that the road traffic accident would pale in comparison to the harsh- truth.

  “Pretty little Vicky dancing around the tree,

  Clever little Vicky she can count up to three,

  In her pink bow and her white lace socks,

  Her shiny brown hair all curled up in locks,

  Pretty little Vicky dancing around a tree.”

  I feel I know the face singing the rhyme. Her beautiful blue eyes smile lovingly at me. Her shiny golden hair touches my face as I look up at her. I don’t know how many hours have passed by but every time I close my eyes I see that same face and I hear the same rhyme.

  “Olivia you’re temperature has spiked again, we going to give you something to bring it down.” I can hear the nurse but I can’t answer. All I do is drift in and out of consciousness listening to the rhyme playing in my head.

  “Mr and Mrs Anderson, hello I’m Dr Friedman the consultant in charge of Olivia’s care. I’m afraid she has a broken femur but my main concern is the loss of blood. It’ll mean a transfusion. We know Olivia’s an AB, supplies are low and we’re hoping one or both of you can make a blood donation tonight.” Even though I am drifting in and out of consciousness I can hear the long silence that follows.

 

  “Well you see doctor, Olivia is adopted. Of course we’re happy to be tested for a match, but…”

  “I see, well you’re right let’s at least try. You never know we might be lucky and get a match.” Why they think I can’t hear them beyond a thin curtain is incomprehensible. The rhyme begins to play in my head as I drift off.

  “Livvy, Livvy darling.” I try to move but the pain holds me back. When I try to speak I find my mouth is too dry. So I try a faint smile. This makes my mum grin from ear to ear as she holds me as though cradling a baby. “Livvy your dad’s here.” He bends down and kisses me on my forehead. I remain cocooned in the care of the one’s who love me. I receive visits from aunts, uncles and cousins. Shazza came to see me a few times as did Christ and Baz. I didn’t think that either Lester or Trace would show their faces, still good riddance. I am ready to leave hospital. I hobble on one foot trying to balance using crutches. The nurse tries to slow me down but I don’t do slow. Slow is for old or sick people.

  “Slow down Tyler you drive this cab too fast. Livvy can’t balance right just yet.” I watch my dad’s face turn from annoyed to irritable. This is how they are. I’m just pleased to be out of hospital. I pretend I can’t hear my parents when they argue. I turn up the volume on the mp3 and drift into my own world.

  “Stop nagging me Pats I know what I’m doing.” My mum knows not to push her luck. As soon as I step in the door I am soothed by the familiar scent of Lavender. I hobble up the stairs, grasping the banister rail for support. When I reach my bed I let myself drop heavily into the duvet. I am home. My mum devotes all her time to me. My dad is happy to see my mum so content; it gives him space to breathe and to feel less accountable for his guilty pleasures. I take my first steps without the crutch the moment the cast came off.

  “Livvy darling you’ve got a visitor. Come in don’t bother taking your shoes off. I’ll just tell her you’re here. How is your university course? I bet your parents are proud of you.” I wish my mum wouldn’t keep going on. People never get the opportunity to answer. Still I’m glad to have company. “Livvy darling are you descent?” I’m sitting bolt upright in my swivel chair, with a ready smile until I see who it is – it’s Lester. The closest he’s ever got to University is when he tried to pass himself off as an engineer on campus to rob some parts. He graduated with a six month jail sentence. I say nothing and he’s staring at the floor, mum offers to put the kettle on.

  “Hey Liv…”

  “I should have known it was you the smell of coward, engine oil and grease gives you away.” I keep my tones to a whisper and he follows my example.

  “Look I know you is mad with us, but you gotta listen.” I turn away from him staring out into the yard at a single yellow daffodil gleaming in the sun. “I was gonna tell ya.” I turn to face him. The quality of my silence tells him that I want a better explanation. “Well it happened that one time, honest. She tells me the kids mine so I gotta do the right thing.” His voice trails off at the end as he’s fidgets with his phone.

  “Well you’ve told me and I’ve heard you. Please leave.” I didn’t watch him go but he does, slowly closing the door behind him. “Bye Lester.” The rattling of pots tells me that my mum’s made tea. I decide to go downstairs

  “Livvy your friend didn’t stay long.”

  “No mum he had to leave. He has lessons to learn.”

  Chapter Four

  The next few weeks I spend doing only two things, getting better, which means walking everyday and catching up with the course work.

  “Liv guess what?” My dad always says those exact words. He never gives me a chance to guess. “Well your dads had a great idea. I’m thinking of staring my own business so I’ve enrolled at the local college, on a Business Studies course.” I copy my parents’ enthusiasm but an odd feeling strikes me. I remember vividly the conversation with the consultant in the hospital. The words were “Olivia’s adopted.” It’s too late tonight but first thing tomorrow I intend to find out the identity of my birth parents. I have a right to know.

  The Sunday morning lie in means two things One my parents will be having sex and two they will both head off to church straight after breakfast. This means I will have time to myself. I stopped going to church when I turned sixteen. At the same time I discovered boys. I open my bedroom window and look at the rows of red brick terraces. The yards all back to back, row upon row separated only by narrow alley ways from where the bins are collected. I can see straight into most of the houses. Mrs Khan next door sitting having breakfast with her six kids, as for old man Bailey, the resident fascist he’s sitting outside smoking with that expression on his face as though everything around him is disgusting. The Polish family are the newest residents in the street and the most gossiped about. Breakfast is over quickly and I offer to clear away the dishes. As soon as my parents leave and the front door is locked I hobble upstairs. The box room is always used as either a makeshift study or a spare bed for any overnight guests. I retrieve the key to the filing cabinet from under the pile of junk. My hands shake as I turn the key in the lock. I have a right to know, I must know. I
work my way through the suspension files until I find something with my name. It’s my birth certificate. I study it but it’s nothing out of the ordinary. There has to be an adoption certificate or some paperwork. I found my parents birth certificates, our passports and some paper work regarding the house. I already know we were moved by the council when I was born. They moved us from the high rise flats to the two bed end of terrace considered more suitable for a family. There is nothing else for it I’ll have to ask them.

  I distract myself by logging onto Facebook. I can’t believe it, it’s Simon. My heart actually skips a beat. Simon has poked me on Facebook. I want to answer straight away but I don’t want to seem too eager. My mobile phone ring, its Shazza, I don’t want to speak to her so I decline the call. I feel tingly all over, my minds keeps racing. I finally poke Simon back. He answers leaving his mobile phone number. I feel ecstatic. I send him a text with a smiley face. The front door bell chimes so I slowly hobble to my parents’ bedroom to look out of the window. It’s Shazza. I don’t want to see her. My mobile rings, its Simon, I love listening to his voice. I see Shazza look up at the window so I quickly step back. The door bell sounds again, this time two or three times in a row. Why can’t she just go away? I close my eyes and listen to Simon’s dulcet tones. I can picture myself kissing him. At long last the door bell stops ringing; I ease myself off the bed and peer out of the window to see Shazza leaving and my parents’ car pulling into the drive. I cringe as I have to tell Simon to end the call. God what must he think of me?

  “Livvy darling there’s someone here to see you.” I can hear my dad asking Shazza to wait outside. I make my way downstairs. Still in my slippers I go outside and close the door behind me.

  “Fuck it Livs I’ve been phoning ya, texting ya and I’ve been ringing your fucking door bell for hours.” Shazza always did have a flare for the dramatic. “Look I fawt I’d tell ya that Trace and Lester ave moved in togever. They had to cos Trace’s parents’ av kicked her out.”