“I’ll be the daddy; you be the mummy,” his words slurred through his slippery lips.

“Ok, but we’re in your daddy’s shop – should we play shop? I know; I come to shop to buy food to cook,” I said moving around urgently. I don’t have long, because Rupert is sleeping, and he don’t know I came out of the house. “Give me one butter, some flour, sugar and rice. Hurry up, nuh.”

He was as slow as slow could get. No wonder his daddy woke him up early every morning to run up the road; he was always bawling.  

“You forgot the butter – just one stick, man. Give me a bag then. Where should I put them? Where’s your daddy?” His eyes were glistening like a lake at midnight. 

“Upstairs in the house,” he muttered.

“I don’t have any money to pay; we can’t play shop without money.” I was half expecting him to hand me some coins. Instead, he said, “Give me a kiss.” 

I hesitantly answered, “I don’t know… Ok.”

His mouth was already wide open. It felt wet; what was all this on my mouth?

“Open your mouth, nuh?” 

“Ok” I said. It’s still wet, like a mug of water being thrown into my mouth.  I don’t like wet. I pulled away, “That’s enough. Give me some icy-mint ’cause I like those sometimes.”

He gave me one.

“Only one? You’re too mean; I don’t want to play anymore. Take your things.” As I threw the shopping at him, he yanked me towards him.

“Come here.”

I allowed myself to be pulled closer to him, “Why you putting your hands unda my skirt? Wait, Rupert’s calling me! Bye!”

I ran as fast as my chubby legs could carry me down the hill and across the road to the house with the big front garden. I wasn’t thinking about what Rupert would do to me.  Nanny spent a lot of time planting all them flowers, and I didn’t want to fall down on them. The sun was so hot.  Oh no, the dog. I don’t like dogs; they always chase me. Let me run faster; no I’ll drop. 

“Yes, I’m coming!” I shouted breathlessly.

When I reached the back yard, he’s standing there looking down at me.

“Why yuh come out the yard? Where yuh coming fram? Suppose something happen to yuh?”

Not even given a chance to answer the first question, I can’t even remember what the others were so I simply said, “You were sleeping.” 

His crimson face replied, “I didn’t send yuh anywhere!” 

“I went to the shop to get icy-mint,” I lied, well not really as I did get one.  Oh no, he’s even redder than he was this morning.

“Go inside!”

I looked at him with my pitiful eyes – that hand big though. It’s up in the air, too high. It landed flat on my bottom.  I’m bawling; it hurts.  I want my nanny; I’m going to tell mummy.  I’m bawling.  I don’t like you. I’m bawling.  My head is hurting me.

It was dinner time; she’s home.  I can hear them getting louder. 

“She’s not your child to hit, neva lick mi pickney again.”  Nanny was smiling; she looked happy. I was happy.  I looked at Rupert – he’s a different kind of red now but no hands in the air.  Mummy’s face looked screwed up; she not happy at all.  My bottom still hurt. 

“I drink all my porridge today, Nanny.  Did you bring me any fried dumplings?”

Nanny smiled and said, “Go and get your book; we lie down by the front door and read.” 

Yes, I was good at reading. My head hurt. See, now my nose was bleeding.

“I won’t cry this time, Nanny. I’ll go for the rag and wet it.” I scurried off. 

Mummy and Rupert were locked up in the bedroom; they must still be mad cause I can’t hear anything.  I love reading with my Nanny – she will give me fried dumpling and after then we’d go to bed. Although she liked to leave me in the night when I can’t find her beside me. 

I can go play dollyhouse again tomorrow, but I don’t like the wet.

About haringeyunchained

Haringey Unchained is a collective of students aiming to show case the creative talent of Haringey Sixth Form College in Tottenham, London. We think that through the promotion of our creative thoughts, we can educate our community, bringing to the foreground the critical and creative consciousness of a vibrant school in a deprived part of London. We are endeavouring to provide this blog as a platform for our community, giving the space to those whose work otherwise might not be seen or read. Being that the cuffs are off, we are able to express through our photography, art, short fiction and poetry, what’s really on our minds. We are free.

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