Who They Was

by Gabriel Krauze

  Some chicks fall in love with the badness, like some even start rolling with shanks, punching up and robbing next gyal, or the peng tings end up attaching themselves to the baddest brer they can find. Maybe it’s protection, a sense of security, or at least some looking after, some garms, some ice, since it’s all about image here, I mean the pressures of this environment have no mercy on them, so if you’ve got your Gucci belt and a fresh pair of creps and hair n nails done up, then at least you can feel like you’re not a total nobody. I mean a lot of these chicks come like they only rate ballers, they only wanna roll with man who are trapping and making p’s and rocking Gucci and Louis and Balmain. And most importantly, if your man’s got some status – maybe his name rings bells on road like he’s feared or he’s on the gang ting or his older brothers are doing bits and their reputation extends to him or he’s a rapper and people know him from YouTube videos or whatever – then no one in the ends will trouble you. Unlike them girls that get beaten out in the stairwells of those massive blocks where most people always take the lift; knees getting scraped on concrete steps, hair getting pulled, panting into the stony silence or giving neckback in some dutty stairwell — and don’t even get me started about how much of that shit gets filmed on mandem’s phones and sent around. And in those situations it’s never usually one brer. He always wants his bredrins to get a bring-in and once she’s up in those blocks on her ones she doesn’t really have a choice, because it’s not like she knows what the fuck she’s even doing there in the first place and she starts to wish she never came up here, even though the brer she actually likes tells her it’s cool b, don’t watch nuttin, they’re my bredrins. But afterwards she’ll get singled out, mandem will spread the word talking about yeah I hit dat, every man in da block run through dat. She’ll practically get dragged into the block by next man who clock her and really, once it gets like that, the only way for her to escape it all is to leave the ends.

  Then again there’s bare good tings who don’t get sucked into it, who don’t allow themselves to get impressed by ice and Gucci belts, who resist the pressure, who learn the signs to watch out for, learn how to ignore mandem hollering at them from the balconies as they walk home, learn to avoid getting trapped in situations they can’t run from, learn that there’s more to life than this place and these reputations.

  Yinka was a good ting forreal, but the worst bit about what fucked up her life before she could even say she’d lived it, was that it didn’t come from the roads. It came from the place she called home.

  Sometimes I lie in bed at night, fantasising about how one day I’ll pull up outside her yard on a superbike, all blacked out with a burner, and when her stepdad comes out I’ll burst his head open with three shots and ride off. I plan how to get away with it, what cameras to watch out for, where to dump the motorbike and burn it. When the thoughts start tearing at my heart and my insides and I can’t sleep because of it, I imagine myself running into her yard on a rago tip, bareface with a borer, and start shanking her stepdad in the face and head before he’s even had a chance to get off the sofa and then I’ll bang her mum in the face and shout that’s what you get for letting a man abuse your child. I’m serious about doing it, but I haven’t told any of my bredrins because it’s just too much, too much for me to say, too much for anyone to think of and if I do tell anyone I know it’ll be the first thing they think of whenever they meet Yinka and I don’t want people to see that when they look at her, and I don’t want them to know I haven’t taken revenge for that shit. So I just keep it to myself and hold her tight whenever she cries.

  I told my mother about it one time when I went home to pick up some garms. I was hoping she might offer to let Yinka live in my old room or suttin, especially since I didn’t really want her living with me in that greazy block in South Killy, but her only response was to start asking hardface questions about Yinka’s mother like why had that woman not done anything about it, as if she hadn’t even listened to what I’d said in the first place – as if I could even answer such questions. I said she needs your help and my mother was sitting up in bed reading a book and she just laughed all bitter and said why doesn’t she get her own family to help her and I said whatdafuck is wrong with you have you not been listening to anything I’ve told you? And she said don’t talk to me like that I’m your mother, I don’t want that girl in my house, she’s beneath you, she’s primitive and I said I hate you you bitch. My father was in the kitchen and he heard it all and came upstairs quicktime bang bang bang which made my heart start going boom boom boom and he grabbed my head and lifted me off the floor, pressing his thumbs into my eyes and I wrestled myself free and he came after me as I ran into my bedroom and dashed me across the room and shouted THIS IS THAT’S IT, because his English is especially bad when he’s angry. Then he went back into my mother’s bedroom and they started talking about me in Polish, about how I couldn’t come here any more. I grabbed some p’s from the shoebox under my bed and ran out of the yard.

  But at Uncle T’s me and Yinka could be together. We could do whatever we wanted and the pain was a bit easier to bear in this environment because really it can be quite a fucked-up place, South Kilburn I mean, but once you accept that life is brutal – and there are plenty of reminders of that in South Killy – you can cope with whatever madness you might encounter, because you already know life has plenty of that to offer.

  NINA

  I PHONE MY boy Capo who’ll be going to uni with me in September to do aeronautical engineering coz he wants to be a pilot and when he picks up I say yo brudda I need you to hook me up with that girl. He says what Nina yeah?

  Nah I want the twenty-two-year-old, even if she’s not the silent type.

  What about the thirty-eight-year-old? She’s there.

  Well I was feeling her, but on a real ting she’s mad loud and she can’t be silenced so I’m not really interested in her.

  Ha. She’s got a big mouth. I hear dat. I could hook you up with Nina though.

  Yeah Nina’s cool, I like her, although it’s the twenty-two-year-old I really wanna go out with. And the forty-five-year-old is way too old for me.

  Yeah and she’s got a big nose.

  Yeah fuck dat.

  I’ll see what I can do fam. Anyway, I’m feeling hungry so I’m gonna see if I can get the mac n cheese.

  Rah, the mac n cheese. You can get that yeah?

  Yeah fam. Well I’m looking into it anyway.

  Say nuttin. Just shout me when you know wagwan, but obviously try hook me up with the twenty-two-year-old cah she’s the one for me. If not her, I’ll go with Nina.

  Say no more fam, he says.

  I say safe brudda, and end the call.

  It is the beginning of summer before my first year of uni and I am trying to get a gun. Everyone I know says they can get that, or they know someone who can get it, but when I start making phone calls, the excuses start coming. It’s harder to sort out than you’d think. Plus I want a proper ting, not a rebore, which is basically a replica or a deactivated burner with the barrel drilled through to fire real bullets. That shit can blow up in your hand forreal. I know of one brer who’s missing his index finger because he put a strap to someone’s head and pulled the trigger but the barrel hadn’t been drilled properly; it was too narrow for the shell. The bullet backfired and the ting basically exploded, blowing his index finger to pieces, with no effect on the brer he was tryna shoot apart from possibly making him believe in God or suttin.

  So I’m in the kitchen at Uncle T’s, billing a zoot, when Taz bells me and says Snoopz there’s a ting there one chick’s holding for me in Cricklewood.

  Is it a proper ting fam? Not a rebore? I go.

  Nah it’s not a rebore. I’ll take you to see it if you want, he goes.

  I bun my zoot while waiting for Taz to get to South Killy. I’d recently bought some coke and started trapping so before leaving the flat, I make sure I’ve got the soft cheeksed properly. I’d wrapped up about ten grams in
little envelopes made out of lottery tickets which Taz showed me how to do – coz that’s the way the sells like it – and clingfilmed them into a ball which I stuck in between my arse cheeks, just in case I get stopped and searched, which is a daily hazard I gotta be prepared for. It ain’t comfortable but like a lot of other things I’ve gotten used to it.

  What really made me want to get a burner was this thing that happened at the end of April. There was a rave organised by Taz in a community centre on Harrow Road and me and my boys were all MCing there. My bredrin Malice, Taz’s cousin, was on the door and he didn’t let certain South Kilburn man into the rave. It was the way he spoke to them though, like they were some any guys. The rave had just got locked off because one MC let off pepper spray, leaving everyone coughing, choking, heading for the exit, all because someone had tried to shank him up onstage. Every rave in the ends that I’ve been to gets locked off early coz someone gets poked up or bottled or shot. It’s expected though. You’ll have mandem from Harrow Road and Grove and Kensal Green and South Kilburn and next ends all suddenly cramped into one space and bare of them have beef with each other, so— Anyway, the next thing I know, I see Malice staggering back into the Yaa Asantewaa Centre while everyone’s spilling out into the road, and he’s holding his face and it’s dripping blood. He’d held some vicious bangs while a next man had him in a headlock. The brer who was giving him the bangs had some chunky diamond rings on that split Malice’s face. I was vexed when I saw it like nah, them man violated forreal. True I got mad love for Malice, ever since we got beaten up by some feds in the back of a bully van after getting stopped and searched in Harlesden. So I couldn’t let that shit slide. I said to Taz fuck dat, them man buss your cousin’s face open, we need to go where they live right now and do them suttin. Taz was moving mad uncertain but true I was nineteen at the time and Taz was twenty-five so he had to set pace as my older.

  We went to South Kilburn. The brers who’d done it lived only a few doors down from Uncle T: the two brothers, Warlord and Rico. As we walked down the balcony Taz said how shall I do it? He had an empty bottle so I said jus knock the door and when myman opens it fuck the talking ting, smash the bottle across his face straight away. When Taz knocked the door, a girl answered and said they weren’t in. Taz looked kinda relieved. Later, when I really understood who they were – how these were some of the main D-block mandem who had the balconies on lock, strapped up and alladat – I realised we’d had a lucky escape. Them man wouldn’t pet to shoot us. After that we went to see Malice in St Mary’s Hospital and although one side of his face was all swollen up and he had a deep purple cut under his eye, he was calm. Funny thing as well is there were two next MCs in hospital beds in the A&E, who got poked up outside the same rave. It was in the hospital when I decided I needed to get a strap.

  It’s a hot summer day when Taz picks me up to get the ting and flies are mating on the air. I’m not wearing tracksuit bottoms under my trousers – which I usually do to make cheeksing the food a bit easier – coz it’s baking outside. As I walk down the balcony to the lift, I can see flies chasing each other and I think how nothing about their frantic dance tells you that in a few days they’ll all be dead. Tryna get the most out of life while they can. A sour smell slides through the air from the greasy pile of rubbish which sits beneath a sign that says STRICTLY NO REFUSE TO BE LEFT IN THIS AREA. I press the button for the lift but when the metal door clangs open, I see that the floor is covered in a curving mirror of piss. I take the stairs even though I know there’ll probably be couple nittys sitting in the stairwells, piping up or just waiting to get some work n buj.

  I jump in the whip with Taz and we drive to Cricklewood. I ask Taz what type of burner it is but he doesn’t know, it’s not a rebore it’s a real ting truss me he says. We park up outside one big block, behind some trees so that we’re partly hidden from view. Taz phones the girl and says I’m coming now babes, have it ready for me. He turns to me and says just wait for me Snoopz, I’ll be like five minutes, then gets out of the car and goes into the building.

  He returns fifteen minutes later with a JD Sports bag and when he gets in the whip he puts it in the footwell between my legs and goes open it and check the ting fam.

  I pull my gloves on – always roll with gloves just in case – and open the bag. The strap is wrapped in an old shirt. When I unravel it, the first thing I notice is rust. All over the barrel. All over the handle. Yellow brown swarming the dull blue metal. Whatdafuck is this Taz? It’s all rusty to rahtid.

  Check it fam, check it, he says, wrinkling his forehead and looking out of the window.

  I try to cock it but the barrel is so rusted, the top won’t slide. Then I notice part of the trigger is snapped off.

  Fuck dat, this ting ain’t even gonna buss fam I say, and start wrapping it up in the shirt before dropping it into the JD Sports bag and handing it back to Taz. Taz says nothing, gets out the car and goes back to the block while I get to thinking about how olders chat shit to their youngers, especially when they’re tryna act like they know it all, like they have all the connecs, like you can’t work shit out for yourself. It’s a fake dynamic though. Olders are just shook of the young bucks taking over. Because all it really takes is a bit of wickedness; you just have to be more savage, more badmind, more on it and then bang – you’ve got your own reputation without needing any olders to certify you. Make your own name and they become meaningless. You can always make your own connecs, especially once you prove what you’re about and mandem start noticing that you’re a problem.

  Taz gets back in the whip and starts talking about the chick, going she’s dumb innit, she got that ting off her brother but she never even checked it, said she didn’t know it was rusty. Obviously man hotted her up for wasting our time.

  Who is she anyway? I say.

  Just some ting I been linking, says Taz.

  Before we drive off, Taz’s wifey bells him and I can’t hear what she’s saying but Taz starts shouting shutdafuckup man, why d’you always do this? Don’t worry about where I am, I done told you I’m with Snoopz, we’re busy with suttin. She’s obviously tryna say something else but Taz just goes bare aggi with no pausing bye bye bye and puts the phone down. I fucking hate when she starts buggin me he says.

  Me, I can’t do all that fuckery where I’m linking next gyal and lotioning them, calling them babe while I’ve also got my wifey who’s down for me. I mean yeah I link other gyal all the time, but Yinka is the only one who gets to fall asleep beside me and gets in my feelings. On a real though, I don’t know what I actually want in terms of a woman. Sometimes it really gets to me how Yinka’s always surprised by shit I’m telling her when just once I want her to tell me something about the world that I don’t know. It’s a terrible thing tryna love someone who can’t teach you anything. Sometimes I just want a bad bitch who’ll sleep with my gun under her pillow. Other times I want a girl who reads mad books and knows about interesting shit like magic, or Aztec sacrifice, and doesn’t get impressed by the badman ting. I know Yinka doesn’t want me stuck on the roads but the way she sees it, any nine to five would be better. Fuck dat. I’m not gonna become a version of me that doesn’t exist.

  Taz gets a call from his bredrin Kane who says he’s got some coke sells for me, so Taz says we’re going Willesden.

  I send Yinka a text saying Thinking of you and put my phone on silent.

  When we get to Willesden, Kane jumps in the whip, says wagwan and tells Taz to pick up his bredrin Daffy from the barber’s, talking about how Daffy’s wiling out about suttin, ready to do a madness. Kane is a proper madman, one of them brers with no fear who loves to scuff and he’s got the size and muscle that makes him extra dangerous. Mixed-race don with a lisp and eyes like splinters of broken mirror. Always on his way to getting waved off a can or bottle of suttin strong. Next man always begfriend with him like they really want his ratings. The amount of times I’ve seen him make a man go and cop a bottle – and I mean suttin big like Courvoi
sier or Henny – and then he takes it and drinks the whole ting to himself. But the brer who bought it stays silent, just looking at the bottle in Kane’s hand, shook to say anything in case Kane switches and starts badding man up. When Kane heard that I was tryna get a burner after Malice got rushed and he realised I was serious, he showed me mad love.

  We pull up at the barber’s. Daffy jumps in the back next to Kane with his face screwed up. Doesn’t even say wagwan to us as he pulls off his sunglasses and starts talking to Kane.

  I was in the chair getting my trim he says, and some black yout who’s like Brazilian or suttin comes in tryna shot some boog Rolexes n dat. They wasn’t even good fakes so I tell him bounce so my barber can carry on with my trim and the yout try tell me to shut up. So I tell him we can swing it out right now, but he starts backing out the shop and as he’s leaving he looks at me and says anytime g. True life I’m gonna fuck man up, tryna gwan like he’s bad for man.

  Daffy has a funny way of talking certain times, saying true life whenever he’s being serious about suttin.

  Yo Taz, he says, drive up to Church Road.

  When we get to Church Road, Daffy says yo that’s the yout and jumps out of the whip as it slows down. Kane jumps out as well and they run up to this tall lanky black brer holding a sports bag and Kane bangs him in the face and the brer’s knees buckle for a second but he plants one hand on the kerb and pushes himself back upright. He dodges Daffy’s swing and Kane rips the sports bag out of his hands and he starts running up the road, back to Willesden. There’s a bunch of heads standing around – couple older yardie man and some Somali brers – and Kane starts handing out the boog Rolexes, still in their packaging, to the little crowd. No one’s gonna call feds anyway. It’s Church Road. Then Kane and Daffy jump back in the whip and Daffy says drive back past the barber’s. Taz spins the car round.