What Came Before He Shot Her

            So naturally, he sought this refuge when, where, and as often as he could. He was able to block out the world as he wrote, so even when he walked over to Meanwhile Gardens when Toby wanted to watch the riders and cyclists in the skate bowl, he himself could sit on one of the benches with his tattered notebook on his knees and he could pull words out of the air and put them together, much as he’d done on the night he’d been named a Poet of Promise.

            He was doing just this, with Toby perched on the rim of the deepest skate bowl nearby, when someone sat next to him and a girl’s voice said, “So what’re you doing? Can’t be homework, this time ’f year. And where you been,  Joel? You go on holiday or summick?”

            Joel looked up to see Hibah trying to get a glimpse of what he was writing. She was, she said, just returning from taking her dad his lunch over at the bus depot. Her mum was expecting her home and would probably phone her dad on his mobile if she didn’t turn up when she was supposed to, which was in about fifteen minutes.

            “Said they saw me out an’ about, they did,” Hibah confi ded. “An’ said they di’n’t much like what  they saw. But I know tha’ cow who works Kensal Library was one tha’ ackshully saw me. Cos if it’d really been my mum and dad tha’ saw me, I wouldn’t be gettin out of tha’ damn flat on my own till I was married, no matter how bad Dad wanted his lunch. So see, they want me to think they saw me while they still givin me the benefit of the doubt wivout tellin me they’re doin it. It’s all cos they can’t be sure that ol’ library cow knows what she’s talkin about cos she doesn’t like us anyways.”

            From all of this, Joel assumed that Hibah had been seen in improper company. He knew who that improper company was likely to be, so he glanced around uneasily, not eager for another encounter with Neal Wyatt. The coast seemed clear. It was a pleasant day, and there were other people in the park, but Neal wasn’t among them.

            Hibah said, “So what’re you doing? Lemme see.”

            “Just poems,” Joel said. “But they ain’t ready to be shown cos I’m still writin ’em.”

            Hibah smiled. “Di’n’t know you ’as a poet, Joel Campbell. Like you writin rhymes? Rap songs or summick? C’mon. Lemme see. I never read a poem in person before.” She made a grab for the notebook, but he held it away. She laughed and said, “Come on. Don’t be like that. You go to tha’ poet event over Oxford Gardens? I know a lady goes there. Tha’ Ivan bloke from school goes ’s well.”

            “He runs it,” Joel said.

            “So you been? Well, lemme see. I don’t know much ’bout poems but I c’n tell if they rhyme.”

            “Ain’t s’posed to rhyme, these,” Joel told her. “Ain’t dat kind ’f poem.”

            “What kind, then?” She looked thoughtful and gave a glance towards one of the immature oak trees that dotted the little hills of the garden. Under several, young men and women lay: dozing, embracing, or more seriously entwined. Hibah grinned. “Love poems!” she crowed. “Joel Campbell, you got a girlfriend now? She round here somewheres? Hmm. I c’n tell you ain’t sayin, so lemme see I c’n make her come running. I bet I know how.”

            She scooted over mischievously till she was touching thighs with Joel. She put her arm around his waist and tilted her head to his shoulder. There they remained for several minutes, as Joel wrote and Hibah giggled.

            But “Wha’ the fuck . . . !” was the ultimate response to Hibah’s gesture of affection, and Joel wasn’t the person who said it. Instead, it came from the towpath beside the Grand Union Canal. No glance in that direction was required to see who the speaker was. Neal Wyatt came storming across the lawn.

            Behind Neal, three members of his crew remained on the towpath. They’d all been slouching in the direction of Great Western Road. They evidently felt that whatever Neal wished to handle at that moment could be handled by Neal alone, a fact that became quickly evident when he homed in on Hibah rather than on Joel.

            He said to the girl, “What the fuck  you doing? I tell you where we meet and you bring dis  wiv you? Wha’s dat all about?”

            Hibah didn’t drop her arm from around Joel’s waist, as another girl might have done. Instead, she stared at Neal and tightened her grip on Joel. She wasn’t intimidated. She was, however, shocked and confused. She said, “What? Neal, who’re you talkin to like that? Wha’s going on?”

            “Disre spec’s what’s going on,” he said. “You hang wiv dis shit, you shit yourself. An’ my woman ain’t displayin herself like shit. Y’unnerstand?”

            “Hey! I said, who’re you talking to like that? I come here like you want and I see a friend. We talk, him and me. You can’t cope or summick?”

            “You listen. I  tell you  who’s right f’r you to speak wiv. You don’t tell me. An’ dis yellow arse—”

            “Wha’s wrong  wiv you, Neal Wyatt?” Hibah demanded. “You los’

            your mind? This’s Joel an’ he’s not even—”

            Neal advanced on her. “I show you wha’s wrong wiv me.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. He yanked her towards his mates on the towpath.

            Joel had no choice. He stood. He said, “Hey! Leave her ’lone. She ain’t done nuffink to disrespeck you.”

            Neal glanced his way contemptuously. “You tellin me . . . ?”

            “Yeah. I tellin you. Wha’ kind of lowlife go after a girl? I guess same kind dat vex cripples up the Harrow Road.”

            This reference to their last encounter and the intrusion of the police into it was enough to make Neal release the hold he had on Hibah. He turned to Joel.

            “Dis bitch’s mine,” he said. “An’ you got nuffink to say ’bout dat.”

            Hibah cried, “Neal, what’re you going on like tha’ for? You never talk like that. Ever.  You and me—”

            “Shut up!”

            “I won’t!”

            “You do what I say, an’ ’f you don’t, you feel the palm.”

            She squared off at him. Her headscarf had loosened, and now it fell back altogether, revealing her hair. This was not the Neal Wyatt she knew, nor was this the Neal Wyatt for whom she was risking everything, from the goodwill of her parents to her reputation. She cried,

            “You keep talkin to me like tha’, I make bloody  well sure—”

            He slapped her. She fell back in surprise. Joel latched on to him. He said to the girl, “Hibah, you get home.”

            The idea that Joel would tell Hibah—Neal’s designated woman— what to do would have been enough to encourage a collective gasp from onlookers, had any of them been interested. As it was, no members of the community enjoying the bright fine day made a move to stop what happened next.

            Neal swung on Joel. His face blazed absolute joy, which should have told Joel that forces far greater than those he understood were at work in this place and on this day. But he had no time to consider that. For Neal set upon him. He gripped Joel around the neck and Joel went down, Neal falling upon him with a grunt of pleasure.

Neal said, “Fuckin little . . .” But that was all. The rest was pounding, administered with his fists to Joel’s face. Hibah shrieked Neal’s name. That did no good. Neal was not to be thwarted in this encounter.

Joel flailed around beneath him, trying and failing to connect with Neal’s face. He kicked and squirmed to get away. He felt Neal’s blows on the sides of his head. He felt Neal’s spittle on his cheeks. Above the thwapping  of the other boy’s fists, he heard the wind-rush noise of the skateboarders. He heard the dim shouting of Hibah.

Then Neal’s hands were around Joel’s neck. He grunted, “Stupid . . . I’ll kill . . . ,” as he tightened them. Joel’s knee sought his groin, but didn’t connect. Hibah screamed and Joel heard Toby crying out his name.

            And then, just as suddenly as the encounter had begun, it was over. It hadn’t been ended by Ivan Weatherall this time, nor by Hibah’s entreaties, by Toby’s fearful tears, or by the intervention of the police. Rather, one of Neal’s crew had finally come down from the towpath and pulled Neal off. He said tersely, “Blood, blood. You