Ray was getting fed up. ‘How many times do I have to tell you, yes.’
‘And you really did deal with Mr Harrison?’
‘Yes.’
‘So what your parents gonna say? Did they threaten to send you back to the Caribbean like mine were going to send me to India?’ Prem asked.
Ray thought for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders. ‘I don’t know, they’ll probably say what they said when I got excluded before.’
Tyrone thought for a moment, trying to remember what Ray’s parents had said before, but he couldn’t remember. ‘What did they say before?’
‘I don’t know,’ Ray replied, after a moment. ‘They don’t talk to me about these things.’
* * *
It was true. After all Ray’s previous exclusions his parents had barely spoken to him. His father’s attitude was, He made his bed, let him lie in it. His mother’s instinct was to side with Ray but she tried to convince herself that his father knew best. Prem and Tyrone had been excluded for pretty much the same reason as Ray. They too had just lost interest in school and after a couple of exclusions Prem had decided to verbally terrorise every teacher in sight. Tyrone had quietly backed him up with clenched fists and a macho stare.
Tyrone was an only child. His parents did try to talk to him but they simply couldn’t control him. They tried threats, they tried beatings, they tried the church, and they even considered sending him to relatives in Trinidad, but they changed their minds when he calmly threatened to kill the family cat. Now they had reached the point where they would try to do their best for him in the hope that he would see the dead-end street that he was on and change his ways of his own accord.
Prem came from a working-class, trying hard to be middle-class, Indian family. He had an older sister at Newham College, a younger sister in primary school, his father worked in a travel agency, and his mother was proud to be a mother, although not so proud of him. His parents felt very let down by their only son leaning towards black culture and by his indifference to education.
Tyrone and Prem lived on the same road, and when the boys had come to the road where Ray lived, Ray led them into a spontaneous rap session, freestyle.
Ray:
I know I’m getting older as I look over my shoulder
And my lyrics just get bigger and my lyrics just get bolder
Like musical rebel full of bass and full of treble
Take it brother Tyrone, take it to another level
Tyrone:
You gotta hear me when I say just be cool X-Ray
I’m the guy the girls admire so I gotta take it higher
And any boy come challenge me that boy got to retire
But if you want come rap with me I promise to inspire
Prem:
Well I could rap in Hindi but for now I’ll say nameste
And I’m worried ’bout the future ’cause the girls are out to get me
Some of them want kidnap me and some want tek me on safari
Some of them dress up in mini, some of them dress up in sari
Ray:
The moral of the Hip-Hop is the Hip-Hop never does stop
’Cause it travels from the bottom and it goes right to the top
So do it to the fullness, never let your rap be shallow
Now I’m going to see my parents and I’ll see you guys tomorrow
They burst into laughter and touched fist.
‘We got it going on,’ said Prem. ‘But I think we should still think of a name for ourselves. Whoever’s heard of a rap band with no name? When you have a name people know that you’re serious.’
‘The name will come with time,’ said Tyrone.
‘Yeah, first we gotta get the style right, you know what I’m saying? Then the rest will fall into place,’ Ray said. ‘See you tomorrow, round the music shop.’
Tyrone and Prem nodded in agreement and went on their way. Ray turned to go home. He couldn’t show it to the others but he was apprehensive about the future, and he walked down the street rapping to himself in a whisper until he reached his house. He let himself in and went to his bedroom.
Chapter 2
Home, What Home?
Ray was alone in the house. He lay on his bed looking up towards the ceiling listening to every word of Tupac’s rap and carefully analysing his style. As he listened he day-dreamed about the day when he would have his own rap band and rap about the things that he cared about. Most of Tupac’s raps were about the hardship of the young black male trapped in the ghetto by the oppressive system. There were words used and references made that Ray didn’t understand, but he tried hard to keep up with Tupac until he was disturbed by the doorbell.
He ran downstairs and opened the front door to his sister. He didn’t even look at Kori, and she didn’t acknowledge him. He just turned away and ran back upstairs.
‘Where’s your key?’ Ray shouted down to Kori.
‘I forgot it,’ she replied to the empty space in front of her.
Within seconds Ray was back with Tupac. But it wasn’t long before the sound of Kori singing along to Beyoncé came seeping through the walls. Ray turned his volume up. Kori turned her volume up. Ray turned his volume up even more. Kori turned her volume up again. Ray turned his volume up until the windows began to rattle. Kori turned her volume up until the walls began to move. Ray’s instinct was always to turn the volume up any time Kori invaded his hear space, but there was a problem: Kori had a much better sound system than Ray. Ray’s system was given to him as a birthday present by his mother. He had had to pressure her for it, and it was the cheapest one in the shop, but Kori had bought hers with her own money. She had made sure that she got the system she wanted by working in a shoe shop on Saturdays and during the holidays. She still had the job; it now paid for her clothes, hair-dos and tickets to concerts.
Ray was completely outclassed. The power of Kori’s superior sound system made Tupac’s angry raps sound like desperate whispering. Ray made a tactical retreat by turning his volume down, and in recognition of his gesture Kori turned her volume down. Ray had to live with it: Tupac could be heard, but Beyoncé would make her presence known in Tupac’s quieter moments.
It wasn’t long before Ray could hear his mother moving around downstairs, so he left the CD playing and went down to see her. She had just come back from the supermarket where she worked as a cashier. Ray stood in the kitchen doorway watching her fill the cupboards with the discounted food that she always brought home on Friday afternoons.
‘Hello Mum,’ Ray said quietly.
His mother had a feeling that something was wrong. Ray never said ‘Hello Mum’ unless something was wrong or he was in need of something.
‘What’s up with you?’ she said, waiting for his reply.
‘I’m OK,’ he replied.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Don’t tell me nothing, what’s wrong?’
‘Nothing, I just got excluded from school.’
‘Oh no,’ she said, turning towards him. ‘Not again. How long for this time?’
‘No, Mum, it’s different this time, this is permanent exclusion. It means I can’t go back to that school again.’
His mum was more confused than angry. ‘What? I don’t care what they call it, they can’t just kick you out of school. What do they expect me to do, stop work to look after you? On Monday morning you will be going back to school and that’s that.’
‘I’m not going nowhere, Mum.’
‘You will go to school. I will not have you walking up and down the streets like before.’
Then Ray flipped. He shouted so loud Kori heard him over the music in her room.
‘It doesn’t matter what you say, I’m not going to school, they don’t want me and I don’t want them. They can stick their bloody school. Their school is boring, their school stinks and I’m not going there.’
His mother shouted back. ‘You and your big mouth, I can see why them kick y
ou out. Maybe I should kick you out too. You think you’re a man, you think you’re big, you wait till your father comes here, you wait. Listen to the way you speak to me.’
Ray headed towards his bedroom, slamming the door again and kicking everything in sight as he went.
Kori was at the top of the stairs. ‘What’s going on, Ray?’
‘I got excluded, didn’t I.’
‘Oh, Ray,’ she sighed. ‘What happened?’
‘That Mr Harrison, I had to put him in his place. He come telling me about where I should look, and what I should do and all that foolishness.’
‘Ray, he’s the teacher,’ Kori pleaded. ‘Can’t you control yourself? He’s only trying to run the lesson, you can’t just do what you want, you know.’
‘Don’t you start. Just ’cause you let people walk all over you doesn’t mean I do.’
‘It’s not about letting people walk over you, it’s about education.’
‘It’s about your education, not mine. I don’t need education.’
Kori turned to walk into her room. ‘Yeah, you know everything don’t you?’ she shouted back over her shoulder.
‘Yeah,’ Ray replied. ‘And if I need to know anything new, Tupac will teach me.’
‘You’re stupid, Ray,’ Kori shouted as he went into his room. ‘You’re so stupid.’
It wasn’t long before Ray’s father came home. The house was noisy. Upstairs Ray had gone from playing Tupac Shakur to playing Snoop Doggy Dogg. Downstairs his dad was shouting at his mum because his boss had shouted at him, and Mum was shouting at Dad because Dad was shouting at her. This was quite normal for a workday; they always came home and expressed their frustrations in these ways. It could be worse. When Kori brought her friends home, and when Ray brought his, everything would go to another level.
‘Come on you two, get your food,’ Ray’s mother shouted from the bottom of the stairs.
At the table there was very little conversation until Ray’s mother began to try to get Ray to speak. ‘Ray, talk to your father.’
‘Yeah,’ replied Ray, but he just continued to eat.
A couple of minutes later she tried again. ‘Ray, haven’t you got something to say?’
‘No,’ Ray said.
‘All right,’ she said in resignation. ‘I’m not saying anything.’
Ray’s father, who had been giving the impression that he wasn’t listening, now stopped eating and leaned back into his seat. ‘Right, what is it?’ He looked towards his wife.
‘Don’t look at me,’ she said, before shovelling some rice and peas into her mouth.
‘Nor me,’ said Kori, making sure she was not involved.
‘Well?’ said Ray’s father, looking at him.
‘It’s nothing. I got excluded from school, that’s all.’
‘That’s all?’ his father asked unconcernedly, leaning forward to meet his food. ‘They’ve kicked you out before, and they’ll kick you out again, and you will go in and out like an old criminal.’
‘No, Dad, he’s been kicked out for good,’ Kori said.
‘What you mean, kicked out for good?’ said their father, going way back in his seat again. ‘They can’t just kick him outta school for good. This is England and every boy must go to school, even if he is a no-good layabout like this one.’
‘I’m no layabout,’ said Ray.
‘You are,’ said Kori.
‘Yeah, you can talk, you had two boyfriends at the same time. That means you’re a slag.’
‘I didn’t, and I ain’t a slag.’
‘Shut up, you two,’ shouted Ray’s mother. She looked towards his father. ‘They said he can’t go back to school, so he can’t go back to school. We can’t force them to take him back.’
‘They took him back before.’
‘But this is different from before, before it was . . .’ Ray’s mother hesitated.
Kori obliged. ‘Temporary exclusion.’
‘Yes, temporary,’ his mother continued. ‘And this is . . .’ she hesitated again.
‘Permanent.’ Kori obliged again.
‘Yes,’ she continued. ‘That means that the school don’t want nothing to do with him.’
‘And I don’t want nothing to do with them,’ Ray added.
‘Leave him,’ said his father. ‘That’s what I say, leave him and let him fend for himself.’
‘He’s a child, Marvin, he cannot fend for himself.’
‘Well, he keeps telling everyone he’s a man, so let’s see how man he is, let’s send him to work, make him pay his way.’
‘He’s not a man, he’s a boy,’ Ray’s mother shouted.
‘I’m not a boy,’ said Ray.
‘Shut up,’ said his father.
‘He’s not a boy, or a man, he’s a teenager,’ said Kori.
‘Shut up,’ said their mother. ‘As far as the law is concerned he is a schoolboy, and he’s too young to work anyway.’
‘Just because he’s excluded from one school that doesn’t mean he’s excluded from all schools. What they do is they find another school in the area to take him,’ said Kori.
Ray stood up and headed for the door, knocking his chair over as he did so. ‘You lot are talking rubbish. It don’t matter what you, or anyone says, I’m not going to school.’
‘You see,’ said his father, pointing in Ray’s direction. ‘That’s why them don’t want him in school, he has no manners, he has no respect.’
‘Yeah, and he has no parents,’ said Kori.
Ray’s mother went pale. ‘Kori, what are you saying? What do you mean by that?’
Kori held her head down. ‘I’m sorry, Mum. But you can’t just keep shouting at him. Try talking to him. That’s the problem, he thinks that everyone is shouting at him, his teacher, his head teacher, his mother, his father. Shouting doesn’t work with him.’
‘Nothing works with him,’ said her father.
‘Kori has a point,’ said her mother, in an effort to try and get her husband to take a different approach. But Kori’s father wasn’t having it.
‘She has a point, does she? Never mind the point. He’s a failure, it’s as simple as that.’
Kori tried again. ‘Dad, I know he’s a bit messed up but –’
‘Yes, you’re right he is a bit messed up,’ her father said, interrupting, ‘and that’s being kind to him. I could tell you a lot more things that he is.’
Kori stood up and left the room. Her father shouted after her. ‘You just make sure you don’t turn out like him.’
For the rest of the evening life carried on as normal: music blared, and the usual arguments raged over who took what from the fridge, who was disrespecting who, and the volume of the music. Ray and his father drank a few cans of beer and fell asleep in front of the television where Ray slept for a couple of hours until his mother reminded him where his bedroom was.
Ray had planned to sleep for as long as he could the next day, but the sun shone brightly through the curtains and Kori was up early playing music and preparing to go to her Saturday job. By the time Ray made it downstairs his father had gone to the bookmakers to bet on some horses. His mother had just read a letter from the school notifying her of Ray’s dismissal and was now sitting reading her favourite magazine.
‘Can I have some money Mum?’ Ray asked.
His mother continued to read as she spoke. ‘You don’t even say good morning and you’re asking me for money. What do you want money for?’
‘I just wanna go out.’
‘Out where?’
‘Just out.’
‘You don’t need money to go just out.’
‘Please, Mum, you know what I mean.’
‘I got a letter from your school today. Ray, why can’t you just get on with your work at school and stop making life difficult for everyone?’
‘That school crap, Mum. It’s that stupid school that makes life difficult for me. Mum, can I have some money please?’ As Ray finished speaking, the doorbell rang. He loo
ked out of the window. It was Tyrone and Prem.
‘Please, Mum,’ he pleaded as he went to open the door. ‘Wait, I’ll be out soon,’ he said to Tyrone and Prem.
He went back to his mother. ‘Please.’
She pointed to her purse on the table in front of her. ‘Take five pounds.’
‘Five pounds?’ Ray said loudly. ‘Mum, that can’t even buy me a CD.’
‘I thought you said the money was for just going out?’ she said.
‘Come on, Mum, please.’
‘OK, take ten and get out.’
Ray grabbed the purse and took a ten-pound note out. ‘That will do I suppose.’
He ran upstairs and quickly got himself ready. On the way out he stopped off in the kitchen and grabbed some biscuits before shouting to his mother, ‘I’m gone.’
The boys headed for the park where they sat around chatting up girls as they passed. Then they started rapping freestyle to each other, each trying to show the others their superior wit, observation and rhyming skills. But as always there was no obvious winner. All three of them made claims and all of them knew that any one of them could have won, depending on what the judges would stress as most important, and there were no judges anyway.
From the park they went to Flip Discs. There they listened to the latest recording that Marga Man had obtained from America. DJs from near and far visited the shop during the day, but Marga Man had his favourite customers, and these were the DJs who would be the first to hear the freshest cuts.
The only things the boys had eaten all day were biscuits and crisps washed down with a variety of fizzy drinks. At 8pm Marga Man shut the shop and took the boys to the burger bar a couple of doors down.
‘You got some wicked beats,’ Tyrone said, with his mouth full of burger.
‘You got some nice raps,’ Marga Man replied, biting into a burger twice the size of everyone else’s.
‘The difference is,’ Ray said, looking at his burger and wishing it was as sweet as the biscuits he had eaten earlier, ‘you can make money selling your beats, but we can’t make money selling our raps.’
‘Talking about money, how much money you guys got?’ asked Prem.
Gangsta Rap Page 2