My heart sank and I felt the familiar hurt of rejection, loss and self-doubt. This stranger disliked me for some reason; maybe the same reason the kids at school disliked me, she shut me out, the same way they did. I turned to Dylan, "I'm sorry."
He looked confused, "What for?"
"It's my fault, I've scuppered the meeting with Pastor Abadom. She didn't like me. If you'd have been on your own you'd have got to meet the pastor."
His expression showed signs of distress and concern, "No, you've read that reaction all wrong, Benita."
I was aware my lack of sleep and the information, revelation overload from the night before was making me feel low and lacking in confidence. But still, I couldn't help how I felt right then, and I needed support and reassurance, "What other way is there to read a door being slammed in your face?" I asked.
He paused for a moment, before leading me away from the party property. Once out of view of the old shop windows and any prying eyes, he said, "It was your name she reacted to, your surname," he said.
"She was horrified by it," I said.
Dylan seemed suddenly energised, "She wasn't horrified as in fearful, no. She had that look and reaction people have when they're hiding something and they run away from some one, or thing that might expose that secret."
I felt my forehead furrow, "How could she think my surname could expose a secret?" I asked.
"Well, it corroborates what the old lady suggested about your dad, going to Ghana to investigate Juju. Obviously your dad's surname was Badoe, and she reacted the way she did, to his name. Badoe means something to her, do you get me?" He asked.
My head physically hurt and I rubbed my eyes, "I'm beginning to get that my dad wasn't killed by accident, yes. But right now I need some ibuprofen before my head explodes," I said.
###
The pharmacy was busy, full of late Saturday morning shoppers, most of them girls, slightly older than me, stocking up on cosmetics and grooming products. Dylan and I stood in the queue, me with painkillers and a bottle of water, him with vitamin supplements and an energy drink. I found myself watching the girls browsing the aisles, their minds focussed on what will make them look and feel fabulous for their Saturday night out. Then I thought of myself, and my mind focussed on witchcraft and a Saturday night home alone while my mum dates my maths teacher, and the thought made me smile.
Dylan looked at me and grinned, "I know exactly what you're thinking," his grin breaking into a smile.
"What?"
"You're comparing what you know, to what they don't," he said, throwing his head towards a girl who was testing make-up on the back of her hand.
My smile stretched wide, "That's off the scale, how'd you know that?" He put his arm around my waist, "Your lovely resting face, talks to me, that's how I know," he said, giving me a little waist squeeze and hug that made me feel a whole lot better.
"NEXT!" Exclaimed the cashier, with boredom in her shout. "Oh, sorry," I said, putting my items on the counter. I took Dylan's, "I'll get them, pay me back later," I said, pushing his items toward the cashier.
The woman scanned them, "You want a bag?"
"Yes please."
She had that kind of disdain that some older people have for teenagers and I could really feel it as she chucked my items into the plastic carrier bag and demanded my cash.
She snatched the ten-pound note from me. I held out my hand to accept the change, and to my shock and surprise, she grabbed it and yanked me into her with force, "We're watching you two!" She said, under her breath, only Dylan and I hearing the threat inherent in her hiss – "NEXT!" She barked, and turned her attention to the next customer, all smiley, warm and friendly.
###
Oddly, Dylan and I weren't thrown or too fazed by the shop woman's threat. Instead, we took it as clear evidence that we were now entrenched in South London's evil, and that we were on the good side, the fight was on, there was no going back.
As we walked back towards Petal Road, it was my turn to listen to Dylan's face, "What's on your mind, I can see you thinking?" I asked.
He looked at me and nodded, "I am. I'm thinking that I have to go home and deal with Polly, because it's really important that I meet with you and Granny Grace at three, in the caff."
Aware that I still didn't want to pry, I asked, "Is there anything I can do to help you in that dealing?"
He actually jolted, "NO, no, not at all." He leant in and kissed my cheek, "Look, I've got to shoot. I'll see you in the caff at three," he said, sprinting off down the road.
###
It was cold but a clear blue-sky day, so I decided to kill the time with a walk in the park, rather than go home. The truth was, I was uncomfortable about mum going on a date with Mr Lacey. Of course I told her I wasn't, I didn't want to pee on her parade. But the thought of mum dating my maths teacher made me cringe. Also, I imagined the torment and teasing the other kids in my class would give me, if they got wind of it.
Sitting on a park bench, I realised I'd been continually rubbing the palm of my right hand against my jeans, it had a slight itch. I looked at it and saw, in the dead centre of my palm, there was a tiny cut that emitted a pinprick of blood. I swiped the blood on my jeans and looked at my palm, the pinprick of blood re-emerged immediately. My first thought was, 'the cashier woman deliberately cut me.' But then I recalled her fingers full of rings and realised it could of easily been a mishap, as she did grab my hand quite forcefully. Either way, I wasn't overly concerned.
###
I arrived back at the caff five minutes early. Granny Grace was already there with her milky tea and biscuit, "Hello sweetheart," she said, with a genuine affection in her greeting. My heart swelled when I saw her and I instinctively hugged her, like a real grandma.
"Sit yourself down," she said, patting the seat next to her. I looked around, saw a third chair and pulled it to our table. Granny Grace looked at the chair, "Well I never, are we expecting a guest?" She asked. "Yes, Dylan's coming."
On the dot of three, Dylan rushed through the door and bounded over to us, "So happy to meet you Granny Grace," he said, flopping down on the chair, his breathing heavy and indicative of recovering from a fast sprint.
Granny Grace and I exchanged glances, but it was me who asked the obvious, "Dylan, have you been battling with chickens again?"
He laughed and swiped blood from his face, "No, I cut myself shaving," he said, wiping his hand on his jeans.
Granny Grace looked at him, "Don't lie young man. That's a vicious scratch, you've been told to keep Polly's nails clipped, at all times!"
