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Set against the backdrop of the Brixton race riots in London in the 1980s, this novel tells a story of overcoming obstacles from a teen's perspective. Brenton Brown, a 16-year-old mixed-race youth, has lived in a children's home all his life and is haunted by the absence of his mother. Complications arise, however, when he finally meets his mother and then falls dangerously in love with his half-sister. Killer Terry Flynn also scars Brenton's life and leaves him wanting revenge. Through it all, this determined teen is driven to pursue education and recognize his true self in the midst of chaos.
decided it would be wise to change the subject. So gesturing at the suitcase, he remarked, “I’m bored with that D. Brown tape. It’s time for Gregory Isaacs.” Floyd proceeded to change the tape while Brenton remained silent, feeling the palms of embarrassment warming his cheeks. He hauled himself up from the bed and left the room, wondering why he had lost control of himself during the vocal volley. He realised the he was projecting the anger he felt towards Terry Flynn on Floyd. After all, his
Gong’s I’m Still Waiting played in her mind. In some ways, she could see a little of Brenton’s father in her son. His forthright nature, for instance. She acknowledged the bad mistake she made nearly eighteen years ago with her failure to tell Gary, Brenton’s father, that she was already married and the mother of a little girl back home in Jamaica. As she brooded more on the early days, she realised that she’d only agreed to marry Juliet’s father because she was pregnant at the time and the
treats me OK, and he is fair and can take a joke. He puts up with a lot, with everybody taking the piss out of his head.” Tessa scoffed her burger, looking towards the counter, where customers were lining up to buy their lunch. “That guy behind the counter, he’s a bit of all right, ain’t he? Wouldn’t mind his eyeing me up. Trouble is, the men you don’t want to ogle you, do, and the guys you want to notice you, don’t. I mean, why do I attract all the poxy low-lifes? It’s not bloody fair.” Juliet
illuminated Christmas trees in the front windows of a few houses and he thought how Christmas didn’t cater for the likes of him. A while later, when he was ambling down Herne Hill, he passed a church that had a large poster at its entrance. It read: Don’t forget the real meaning of Christmas. Come to church where we rejoice in the true meaning. At that Brenton kissed his teeth and sauntered on, hands thrust deep in his pockets. When Brenton reached the park he saw a brace of schoolboys fishing
didn’t Ms Massey come with Juliet to collect her son from the hospital? And what had alarmed the girl? She looked as guilty as an accused burglar in the dock wearing the victim’s dress. But what was she guilty of? Brenton looked like a war casualty. Cotton wool and plaster masked his nose, and the padded dressing on his shoulder made him resemble an American footballer. His knees seemed to be wailing for air under the recently wrapped bandaging. Oblivious to his appearance, Brenton peeked out of