be at university already.”
Anna laughs. “I’ve not even done
my exams yet, Mummy.”
“What I mean,” says Mum,
“is I used to cut your hair.
You look like you did
when you were a little boy.”
I turn to Anna.
“What do you think of it?”
“It looks good but
don’t you miss your locs?”
“Not really. I feel lighter now.
People can’t make assumptions
about me. Like, before I cut them,
I was here on the seafront,right here,
and this guy came up to me
asking if I could sell him some weed.
When I said no, heactuallysaid,
‘You’re a liar!’ Can you believe that?”
Anna replies, “But
you don’t know if that was
because of your hair;
it could just be because you’re black
and he might think
all black men are drug dealers.
It was a white guy, right?”
“Yeah, he was
white but . . .” And I pause.
It hadn’t occurred to me
until Anna said it just now:
