JP Pangilinan O’Brien is a teacher from West London. He is currently working on a connected collection of short fiction that explores questions of identity, belonging and place.

Email: juanpopangilinan@gmail.com

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 Shh!

 

I first met Jesse when I was fourteen. Everyone was still around then, and my Tita Virgie had suggested it. Tita Virgie was religious. She was the type of woman who believed that the natural world could be controlled by prayer, and ‘reuniting’ people who had never met in the first place was part of her ministry. My mum dropped me off her place one Saturday, and there Jesse was sitting on the sofa. His hair was cut short and what was left of it flew upward, so you could see his scalp. Tita Virgie clicked her fingers. O sige, she said. Go play.

How old are you? I asked him as we walked down the corridor of Tita’s flat.

Ten.

Shit, I said. How I end up hanging out with you?

He dropped his head and didn’t say anything back.

I had a better look at him when we got to the kitchen. It was the tail end of summer, and he was still a little brown but he wasn’t like any of the rest of us. I told him as much.

You’re white, I said.

He looked up at me, scrunched his face and started to cry.

I’m telling!

And off he went, to Tita Virgie, to tell.

Tita Virgie came down the corridor and found me in my Tito Leo’s room, looking at his sticker collection. Back then, I was obsessed with basketball and Leo had the sticker that all of us wanted: Kobe, with the 23 jersey, and the yellow and royal purple background. She started stuttering.

C-Christian, she said. Jesse is your cousin. Be nice.

And because back then I was a miscreant with nothing better to do than annoy the women who had raised me, I said: Well, how come I never met him before?

Tita Virgie looked down at her feet. Just be nice, she said.

Jesse was in the living room throwing the ball up at the ceiling and catching it on the way down. I hung off the corner of the door frame.

Hey, I said. Come on. I was only joking.

He puckered his lips and frowned.

Really? he said.

I nodded. Come, let’s go play.

Tita Virgie lived in Hackney when it wasn’t a coffee shop every two shops. It was wild back then. My mum never knew that Tita Virgie let us out – if she did, she might have stopped sending me – but Virgie didn’t have any children and I was the one who was closest to her. Her only condition on letting us out was that she could pray over us before we did. We stood at the flat door, Tita putting the palm of her hand over our heads and whispering some verse out of the book of Hosea. When I looked at Jesse, the corner of his mouth was twitching. I tried not to laugh.

After the flat door closed behind us, Jesse pinched his nose.

It stinks, he said.

He was right. It did. Tita Virgie lived on the seventh floor, with five other flats, and there was rarely a time when the building didn’t smell of some sort of human liquid. Her neighbour was an old Scottish guy who had fought in some war. He drank. I told Jesse all of this as we were walking down the stairs and he started laughing.

Be careful, though, I said.

Why?

Sometimes he tries to catch little kids to keep them in his flat.

He stopped laughing.

You know Kuya Kenny?

No, who’s that?

Exactly, I said.

He looked at me then, that same frown as before, and when he looked away, I smirked.

We got outside and I headed straight for the court. Jesse trailed behind me like a dog. It had been a hot summer and there were no signs it was slowing down. The sun pressed down on our foreheads and I stopped to take my jumper off. Jesse was looking around at the estate, the buildings towering over him.

Ain’t you been here before? I said.

He shook his head.

How come?

I don’t know, he said. My Mum’s never taken me here before.

When we got to the court, there were some people I knew playing HORSE.

Oi, I said. I beg you lot let me jump in.

I started to walk around towards the entrance. When I looked back, I saw that Jesse hadn’t moved. I twisted my face at him. Come on, I said. He walked over slowly. One of the kids I knew on the estate asked me who the kid was.

He’s my auntie’s relative, I said.

Huh?

Jesse came into the court. I’m his cousin, he said.

I glared at him. No you ain’t.

The kid started laughing. Come on Christian, he said. Don’t be deep.

He was one of the older kids and walked over to Jesse. There were some girls from the estate there. When they saw Jesse standing next to him, they made cooing sounds in unison. One of them came up to me.

That your cousin, Chris?

I nodded.

The older kids had come into the court by then, and someone in the group put up a bad shot that came off the backboard and narrowly missed the girl’s face. She shrieked and the kids on the other side of the fence started to laugh. The girl turned and kissed her teeth, but no one gave themselves up and she skulked back across the court to her friends. After she was gone, we put up increasingly stupid shots for the rest of the afternoon. I told Jesse to fetch the rebounds. Whenever somebody managed to get close to the full set of letters for HORSE, one of us would say how they were tired and lay down on the concrete. The person who was hot would say nah, nah, that’s bullshit, but by then everyone else was sitting down, smiling.

When my Mum picked me up later that evening, Jesse was asleep on the sofa. He had done so much running around the court that his cheeks had turned red, and I wondered how it could be that a kid that was Filipino could have red cheeks like that. When we were driving home, I asked my Mum.

That’s because his Mum is maputi, she said.

How?

What you mean how?

There aren’t any white people in our family, I said.

My mother went quiet then, just like Tita Virgie. I lay down on the back seat.

You and Tita Virgie are acting weird, I said.

She didn’t answer at first, then it all came at once.

Okay, she said. I’ll tell you. But you mustn’t say to anyone. If I find out, I’m going to be really mad, eh!

I sat up. Okay, I said. Just tell me.

You remember Tito Jimmy?

Sure, I said. Who gave us free food at the airport?

She nodded. And before she said it, I felt something strange run over me. It was like watching someone through a bedroom window.

No, I said. Really?

My mother shrugged her shoulders. These things happen, she said.

Does Jesse know?

No, she said. He doesn’t. That is why you must never say.

I lay back down on the seat again. I closed my eyes and thought about Jesse asleep on Tita Virgie’s sofa.

The next time I went around to Tita Virgie’s house, Jesse wasn’t there. I sat in the living room and watched cartoons. Tita Virgie appeared at the door frame.

Anak, she said. I gotta go to the store.

I nodded. As soon as she went out, I started snooping. Uncle Leo was always working, so I never had to worry about anyone else when Tita Virgie was out of the house. I was looking for more of Uncle Leo’s stickers when a shoe box fell from the wardrobe. Shit, I said, watching the contents spill all over the floor. I started gathering everything up, but stopped when I realised that it was photos of all of us. I was in some of them, resting my head against my mum or Tita Virgie. There were other photos of Virgie and Leo when they were young, Tito Leo sat on the sofa with a cigarette hanging from his mouth, or Virgie in dungarees. I started collecting them one by one and putting them back into the box when I noticed one with someone I didn’t know. It was of a white lady in a hospital bed, a newborn baby in her arms. Next to her, smiling, was a dark man in a moustache. I held it up to the light. Soon as I had, the lock on the door went and I had to run to the living room, stuffing the photo into my pants. When Tita Virgie closed the front door, I heard her shout.

Ay nako! What happened?

I didn’t answer. She came to the living room door. I was lying on the sofa.

Anak, she said. Your uncle’s stuff is all over the floor.

I put the TV on mute. It must have been the cat, I said. And because Tita Virgie’s cat Lila was always slinking around the corners of the house, knocking this and knocking that, she believed me. When she left, I took the photo out of my pants and stared at it.

Weeks passed. The days when my older siblings weren’t there to look after me, I went to Tita Virgie’s house but Jesse was never there. One day, I asked her. She was in the kitchen making food.

How come Jesse ain’t here?

Holiday, she said, without turning around.

Where?

She didn’t reply.

There isn’t much else to say about that time. I spent most of it at the court with the others, shooting cack handed free throws. There was talk of some older kids who were trying to find one of the kids from the court because he had spoken to one of their sisters, and Tito Leo came back late one night when I was asleep and woke me up to watch the Lakers game. There were more cartoon days. Then, all of a sudden, the summer died. And when the cold came to replace it, Jesse was there.

Kuya Chris, he said, standing in the doorway.

Where have you been? I said.

Ireland.

Swear?

Yeah, he said. My Mum’s from there.

I thought about the photo back at my house, lying face down on the desk. Wanna go out?

Okay, he said.

It was a blustery day. When we got to the bottom of Tita Virgie’s building, the wind was screeching between the buildings. Jesse lifted the collar of his jacket to his face. It’s cold, he said. When we got to the court, the wind was pushing an empty packet of crisps against the back wall but none of the others were there.

Let’s go shop, I said.

The inside of the supermarket was warm. When I asked Jesse if he wanted anything, he shook his head. I left him at the magazines. When I came back, he was reading one with a PlayStation demo stuck on the front.

Can we get this? he said.

Nah, I said. We don’t have enough for that. I meant sweets. Do you want sweets?

I held out the packs of laces and other fizzy things like a market trader.

Those ones, he said, taking his hand out of his jacket to point.

I nodded at him and started for the door. The security was asleep, his hands clasped over his belly. Come on, I said. When we got past the trolley bay, I passed him one of the packs of laces.

You didn’t pay for those, he said.

I know.

Why didn’t we get the magazine, then?

I looked back at him. What, are you gonna take it?

He shook his head.

All right then, I said.

When we got to Tita Virgie’s building, we had to buzz someone else’s number because I didn’t have a fob and Virgie wasn’t answering. Then the lifts wouldn’t work, so we had to take the stairs. I was pissed because it was eight floors of walking, and I said so. Jesse was too involved in the laces to answer. When we pushed through the stairwell door, I could hear someone groaning.

Listen, I said. It’s the soldier man.

Jesse took a step back. Stop it, he said.

But for all my joking, I wasn’t wrong. When we got out onto the main corridor, I could see someone’s leg hanging out of the lift. I turned to Jesse. Shh, I said, and made a signal for him to follow me. We pushed our bodies against the wall and crept around until I could get a better sight. It was Tita Virgie’s neighbour. He was lying on the floor, singing. There was a pool of piss around him, and scattered all around were pound coins. There was enough to get Jesse his magazine and then some. I turned around and pointed at the spoils. Jesse shook his head. I made more motions with my hands, screwed my face at him. Come on, I hissed.

The neighbour was snoring by the time we finished. We tried to pull the rest of him out of the lift once we had picked up all the coins, but he didn’t move. Just before we got to Virgie’s door, Jesse asked if we should tell her.

What, I said. Are you dumb?

But what about the man?

Forget the man, I said. Don’t ever tell Tita Virgie that shit. You don’t break secrets like that.

He nodded. When we got inside, Tito Leo was sitting at the kitchen table. I turned and looked at Jesse. There was a wet patch on his trousers from where he had wiped his hands. Oh shit, I whispered. I pushed him into the living room.

Tito Leo, I said. What are you doing here?

Day off, he said. Where’s Jesse?

As soon as I saw Jesse come out of the living room, I knew it was a wrap. He had his hands behind his back and couldn’t look up at either of us. There was nothing else for it.

Jesse pissed himself, I said.

He looked up at me with wide eyes. Uncle Leo put down the paper.

What? he said. Jesse, come here.

Jesse walked around me, into the kitchen.

Jesse, what the hell. You pissed yourself?

I was starting to cool off. It was all good. The kid hadn’t said anything. We just had to get through this next part, get to the cartoons and it would be all good. I was already thinking we could sack the supermarket off. We could get the bus and go to one of the stores that sold games instead. But then Jesse started to cry.

It’s okay, Tito Leo said, going to him. It happens.

And that’s when it all went left. Tito Leo picked up Jesse to hug him, and he heard the pound coins rattle in his pockets. Each one like a death sentence. Tito Leo looked at me. He didn’t need to say anything then. Jesse blurted out the story in three acts. There was no one at the court. We went to the store and stole. Then, when we got back, we did some more and robbed the old man. Tito Leo listened without interrupting, then told Jesse to go to the bathroom to clean himself up. He glared at me.

Close the door, he said.

As I was getting hit, all I thought about was getting Jesse. Stupid kid, I kept thinking over and over. All he had to do was keep quiet. What the fuck! Tito Leo, as if he could read my mind, hit me round the back of the legs once more.

Don’t, he said. Or you know what.

I nodded and limped into the living room. Jesse was there in a change of clothes, watching cartoons. I walked over, made sure Tito Leo wasn’t there and punched him in the arm. He pulled back, but didn’t cry.

You’re dumb, I said. No wonder your Dad left you.

I couldn’t help myself then. It all came pouring out.

You don’t even know what the deal is, I said. Your Dad has another family. That’s why he left. That’s why we never met before. You’re a secret. He’s probably not even going to come back and see you.

Jesse waited until I had finished speaking to cry. It wasn’t like before, when he was loud. No, this time, he just hunched over and started to whimper. His shoulders moved up and down, and I reached for the remote. I would like to tell you that my first thought was for my cousin, but no. I was worried about Tito Leo. I turned up the sound and then felt bad. I reached over to touch him, but he pulled away from me. He was mumbling something, but I couldn’t hear him.

What? I said.

He said it again under his breath.

I can’t hear you.

He pulled his head up. His face was all red and there was snot streaming from his nose.

You’re not my cousin, he said. I hate you.

After that, my mum stopped sending me to Tita Virgie’s. When my dad lost his job and she had to go and find work too, she started sending me again. It was like that. Tito Leo and Virgie never treated me any different, but I never saw Jesse again.

It wasn’t until years later that I looked for the photo. I had moved to a different part of London then, and I thought I had seen Jesse out on one of my walks getting to know the area. He was a little taller than I remembered, had even started to grow that fluff that young men call a beard, but it looked like him. I stood watching him across the road for a good while, trying to decide whether or not I should say something. But when I got closer, I realised it wasn’t him after all. I thought about him the whole way back home, and when I got to my front door I ran up the stairs. I was looking for the photo, you see.

I found it eventually. The edges were a bit ripped at parts and the back had started to yellow, but it was still there. It had been so long that I had forgotten complete parts of it. Tita Virgie had written something on the back. I strained over it, but made it out in the end. Jimmy, Mairead, Jesse, it said. Then, under it, barely legible, was another line. Look at how shocked Kuya Christian looks!

I turned the photo over. In the right hand corner of the photo, just off focus, was a small boy. I had always assumed it was someone else, but when I looked closer I realised it was me. I was standing there, looking nervously over at the bundle of sheets that was Jesse. There was a hand behind me. What was it doing? Letting me know he was there? I looked closer. No, whoever’s hand it was, had their other hand on my shoulder, pushing me forward. Telling me to hold him, I guess. I sat down on the bed for ten minutes, turning the photo around in my hands. I grabbed my phone.

Ma, I typed. Were we there when Jesse was born?

She started writing back.

Yes, she said. You didn’t want to hold him.

Why, I wrote.

She was quick in her reply.

He was too soft, you said, and you didn’t want to hurt him.