Prologue
My mum once told me that the bravest sailors weren’t the ones who sailed through the storm, but the ones who remained in port whilst it raged out at sea. I never really understood what she meant by that, until now.
For seventeen years I succeeded in standing back and watching that storm wreak havoc, never once venturing into the expanse of the ocean like a large proportion of kids on my estate had done. Unlike me, they were drawn into the glamour and the notoriety of joining a gang. Some did it for the promise of a family unit that they didn’t have at home. Some did it because they were too weak or too vulnerable to say no, while others did it because they were bored. And some, like Eastern, joined out of sheer desperation.
I chose to stay away.
It’s true, I might’ve been the delinquent kid that everyone saw when they looked at me. I might’ve gotten into trouble with the law, but I refused to set sail into a storm that wasn’t of my own making. I refused to join a gang. The way I saw it, whatever trouble I got into was onmyterms and not for some self-proclaimed gang leader with a skewed view of the world and their own set of rules. I never wanted to be beholden to anyone but myself, and above all else, I always wantedmoreout of life than the hand I’ve been dealt.
Maybe it was my mother’s fault for filling my head with far-fetched stories, but Iwanted what was on the other side of the storm. I wanted what lay far, far beyond the horizon. Deep down I’dcravedthe life my mum used to tell me about in her stories. It gave me something to focus on, to dream about, even if it wasn’t real. Ironic then, that I’m now a part of the life I worked so hard to avoid, trying to protect the people I love from falling victim to it.
And all because my love for a makeshift family meant I couldn’t stand back and watch the storm anymore. I must set sail right into the heart of it because I love Eastern, Tracy and Braydon enough to do something about their situation. They might not be my blood, but they are my family and I won’t abandon them in a time of need.
Pity the same couldn’t be said for my own parents.
In my lowest moments over the years, I’ve daydreamed about my dad returning to rescue me. Mum had always claimed he never knew of my existence, that he was just a stranger, a one-night stand. But she’d spun a tale about that too. Over the years, when she didn’t think I was awake, I’d hear her crying for the man who’d left her when she was eight months pregnant. I’d overheard her telling a friend once how he’d promised to return, to take care of us both. He never did and my mum refused to speak of him to me. That was one story she’d refused to tell no matter how often I’d begged her to. I think, in part, her addiction began in earnest with him, though I suspect it also had a lot to do with her running from her terrible upbringing. Maybe my father was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Maybe she would’ve become an addict regardless. There’s no way of knowing.
But her refusal to talk about him led to an unhealthy obsession of my own. I’ve spent many lonely nights awake and wondering who my dad is. The absence of my dad’s name on my birth certificate led to many dead ends over the years, leaving me frustrated and angry. Not even Tracy knows the identity of this mysterious man who’d fathered me. Maybe he was the drug dealer who supplied my mum with heroin and kept her addiction alive even when pregnant with me. Maybe hewasjust a regular guy she’d picked up for a one-night stand, who entertained the idea of being in our lives then ran when he realised my mum was nothing more than a junkie. Maybe he really was a Chinese emperor.
I’ve often imagined my dad returning to find me. In my fantasies he’s a handsome, though faceless man driving into my estate in a flashy sports car, promising me the life I’d always dreamed of and apologising for abandoning us both. He would grovel and beg my forgiveness and I would make it hard for him in the beginning, but eventually Iwouldforgive him. In every fantasy I’ve ever had, I’d climb into his car and we’d drive off into the sunset to a new life where gangs weren’t terrorising the neighbourhood and my only chance of survival was to join them or commit a crime ending up in prison so I wouldn’t have to.
But life just doesn’t work like that.
Not for me.
Not for the girl who’s always carried the storm inside her.
You see, my mum had failed to understand one important fact: you can’t observe the storm from a safe distance when the storm is already a part of you. We all have our roles to fill. I’d just been avoiding mine for a lot longer.