His flat had no furniture for starters, or not much anyway. You know you’ve got some mums who are house proud and some who ain’t? Well, this one just didn’t have no style, man. No ornaments, no cushions, no carpet. Not much. I don’t even think he had a fridge.
That night, we went together to see the crew. Tyrone acted as The Introducer.
It was the end of the summer term – my last term – and the nights were warm and long. The heatwave had boiled over, and the sky glowed pink beyond the jet trails leading to Heathrow.
Hanging on Tyrone’s estate meant interacting with a whole new hierarchy of characters who lived in his blocks. Cars would pull up, business would be done.
That hot evening, it had an LA vibe. Man Dem leaned on their cars, rolling down the windows, and pumping up the stereos. I’m not gonna lie. It was exciting. I felt like I was stepping into a scene from 2 Fast 2 Furious.
Lot of conversations were going, Olders talking transactions, Youngers making deals.
And lots of them were interested in this pretty new face.
“What have you been on for the day then, blood? What you been doing today?”
I recognised Badman. I’d soon learn there was little mystery to the name. Bad influence, bad man. He was the one who had to be talked out of stuff. If ever a yout was going to get you chased unnecessarily across Clapham Common for fear of your life, it was him.
He was brash, abrasive, but I was beginning to like him.
“Ain’t done much, bruv,” replied Tyrone.
“You remember Sour?”
Of course he remembered me, he said, looking me up and down. “Girl got her tings going on. Alright?”
I nodded and smiled. Enough to be friendly, not too much to give him the wrong idea.
Another yout, a good few inches shorter than me, rocked up, knocking knuckles with Badman and pulling Tyrone into an enthusiastic chest hug – though their chests were barely level.
His brand-name was Stimpy.
“Man made some loot today, still,” Badman told him. It felt like he was trying to wind him up. If he was, it worked.
“What? And you couldn’t bring man in? Why couldn’t I get part of it?”
I couldn’t work out whether he was joking or challenging him. Either way, this guy had balls of steel for someone so fat. He was speaking as if, when he looked in the mirror, he saw a 6 ft 3 hunk stare back at him.
“Move, man! Get outta here.”
Badman laughed and shook his head, like a lion batting away the cubs that bit at his ankles. Stimpy was having none of it.
“Nah, come on seriously, bring man in. Give me some.”
Badman moved to him slowly, then, grinning broadly, fastened him in a headlock.
Stimpy fought back – he was tough for a fat motherfucker – and the rest laughed out loud, enjoying the mock scuffle.
The jeering prompted a window to be unlocked two floors above. A woman leaned out.
“What ye boys doing? Wanna keep down the noise?”
Stimpy released his head from the crook of Badman’s arm and wriggled free.
“Sorry, Mum,” he called up.
“That’s his mum?” I whispered to Tyrone. Tyrone shook his head.
“No, Stimpy ain’t got no mum.”
He explained that Man Dem called all the older women on the estate “Mum”. “Sign of respect.”
“Ye alright?”
“I’m fine,” she replied, softening. “Be better if youts were quiet, innit.”
“Man be good, Mum,” Stimpy winked.
She rolled her eyes and closed the window. That was why Stimpy was needed by the Man Dem. As I’d find out, he was just as capable of meanness as any of them, and sneaky with it too, but he didn’t look like no hardass gangster. Better than any of them, Stimpy could win people’s trust. He could go unnoticed better than all the rest. He was the best look-out they had.
Another yout came over to join us. Cyrus didn’t say much, and got on with transactions, counting cash and handing it over to Badman. I recognised him from the saloon photo. He’d been standing at the back, with a cowboy hat on. He was the only one who wasn’t smiling in it.
“Y’alright? What you doing here?”
“Free world, innit.”
Yeah, Drex was one of the names of the Youngers, and right there and then, from the way he spoke to me, I could see he did what it said on the tin: Drex was short for Durex. He was eye candy for sure. I just knew he had the pick of many. Every girl liked this fly boy.
“What’s he doing?” I asked.
Cyrus had broken off from the rest of the group, and had gone along the walkway, to knock at one of the flats. He was waiting on the doorstep. The door didn’t open. Instead, he was speaking with someone through the window.
Drex laughed.
“No one knows what Cyrus is doing,” he said. “Doing business of some sort. He ain’t trying to tell no one what he’s trying to do. No point. Before you know, he’s gone with it, and be seeing you later at home. He’s just off.”
Cyrus was a serious character. Bit of a lone wolf. He got a lot of stuff done. Too much, at times. He would be the one, I’d learn, who would be getting chased, with no warning, because of something he’s done that you’re not even aware of. If you suddenly heard the Junction Boys wanted to tear your head off, the reason usually had something to do with Cyrus.
Cyrus looked over, and nodded hello to us, as he rolled up a spliff. I rarely saw him without some weed. He was high most of the time. Maybe that’s why he didn’t talk much. But even without going into his background or having a conversation, you understood he came from something. That boy had demons. Of them all, he carried the greatest darkness.
Another guy who joined the group got a bigger welcome than the rest. I realised I recognised him. It was Daggers, the boy who’d scaled balconies on the run from the boydem.
“Where’ve you been, man? Ain’t seen you for a while,” said Stimpy, pleased to see him.
“Got nicked, innit. Feds had me down to station for a week, took all my clothes, spun the house …”
Cyrus passed him a spliff.
“Thanks, man. So what did I miss?”
At that moment their attention was turned to two girls, Tyrone’s sister and her friend, who had come down to enjoy the vibe. They didn’t stay long, passing from car to car, talking to some of the guys.
They were both in their slippers, wearing denim shorts and vest tops. One of them had her hair half-combed, with a comb still poking out her braids. The other half of her hair was wild. In her hand she carried a can of coke.
“Mum wants you to go and help,” she told her little brother, before taking note of me.
“Hi Sour,” she said. “Y’alright?”
“Yeah, good, Chantal. You?”
“Fine.”
She clearly wasn’t interested in having a chat.
Stimpy rolled up behind her and put an arm round her waist.
“Looking fine tonight, girl.”
She rolled her eyes, and peeled his arm away.
“Is it not past your bedtime?” she said. Her friend giggled.
“Is that an offer?” he replied. “You offering to take man? You can tuck me up real nice.”
She ignored him. He caught my eye and I supressed a smile.
“Ty, come on. Mum needs you for something.”
She seemed irritated, impatient. I realised she didn’t like him being out here.
He looked at me apologetically.
“Wanna come up and get some food?”
“Nah,” I said. “I’m going to hang here for a while.”
He looked surprised.
“Sure?”
“There’s chips and …”
“Ty,” I said, more forcefully this time. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”
“OK,” he shrugged. His sister spun on her heel and went back up the stairwell, with Tyrone falling behind.
I spent the rest of the eveni
ng drifting through this new crowd. By the time darkness finally fell I had taken so much in, watching different characters from different tiers exchanging cash and talking business. I watched who made the most money, who felt they were smartest, who commanded the most respect.
It was all so different from home at Roupell Park where the only diversions were ball games in the Pen and relieving the shops of stock.
All of a sudden there were all these guys, smoking weed, eating food, playing music. These goings-on felt good.
I listened a lot and just took it all in, getting the feel of this new crew. Some responded when I spoke to them, others didn’t. Drex made a few introductions with the rest of them, talking over me as if I was dumb and mute.
“Is she your chick, blood? You banging her?”
His name was Gadget. He wasn’t known for his charm.
I smoothed the slick of hair that hung over my eyebrow and tried to look – what’s the word? – disdainful.
“Nah, she’s down with it, man. Even if I wanted to, she’s not going to have that,” he joked.
“Damn right,” I said.
“Well, then how come she’s around?”
“How come you got two phones?” I asked, pointing to the one in his hand and the other brick in his pocket.
“Ringtones, innit. Stereo surround sound.”
He pulled them both out.
“Listen to this,” and he held one up to each ear, and started dancing to the grimey tracks together, which were beeping and bleeping in strange sychronicity. He looked ridiculous in his loud clothes and designer labels. I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Did you hear about my man and that chick from Brixton?” he asked Drex.
“Man said she’s proper loose, like I told you, yeah, but a good bang still. He said she …”
Gadget stopped in his tracks as soon as he saw Drex’s feet.
“Fuck’s sake, man! You had to go get the same trainers as me. Stop trying to follow man’s trend. These ain’t for your class, innit.”
“You’re gonna have to upgrade, man, sorry.”
Gadget walked off in a huff, looking like someone had just pissed on his chips. I imagined him throwing out his beloved new Nikes as soon as he got home.
That’s when I noticed they all walked the same – swaggering with such a lop-sided bounce, like they had a limp.
“So you live here too?” I asked him.
Drex explained he lived with his dad on the endz. As we chatted, more boys approached to bump fists. I noticed a quiet confidence that I hadn’t seen before. Yeah, this boy had heart.
They treated him with a certain level of respect. Only Daggers looked unimpressed when he saw us talking. While the rest asked me questions and played the joker, he stood back and stared at me with hostility. He seemed annoyed about something.
Drex noticed it too.
“What you cutting your eye at her for, blood?”
The volume of his voice caught Badman’s and Stimpy’s attention. They stopped to listen.
Daggers snorted.
“She thinks she’s too nice, innit.”
I might have been the new girl – hell, the only girl – but I wasn’t being disrespected in front of no blood.
“What’s your problem, man? Time of the month?”
They sniggered.
“Just saying I don’t want no trouble, that’s all,” he said, and slunk back to what he was doing.
“Ignore him,” said Drex. “He gets like that sometime. He thinks girls don’t speak to him on account of his skin.”
Daggers’ acne wasn’t that bad. I’d seen worse. For a fleeting moment I felt sorry for him.
“You like all this?” he asked, nodding to the guys laughing and joking behind him.
I realised I’d been enjoying myself. No one said gang. No one needed to.
“I like to be entertained, yes.”
He nodded. “You and me both.”
We were interrupted by a scuffle as Badman lunged for Gadget’s ridiculous phone.
“You said you wanted new trainers, yeah? Well, who’s hungry?” he shouted. “Man feels like ordering a pizza!”
Stepping inside, I heard an excited squeal.
“Sour’s here!”
It was my brother. He was upstairs with his friends. His loudspeaker was up full blast. I could feel the bass vibrating through my body as soon as I walked into his room.
In the mornings, we listened to Gina Thompson, R Kelly, Aaliyah, Keith Sweat. In the afternoon, it was Tupac and Biggie. And at night, the night music was my favourite – we would dance to jungle music. Now that was my kind of music. I noticed Mum had passed out on the sofa and was sleeping right through it.
A hyper Yusuf jumped off his bed and pulled me into his room, where they had turned off the light and were dancing in the dark to strobe lights.
“Robot dance!” he squealed, locking his elbows and knees, and popping like C3PO.
The neighbours from downstairs banged on their ceilings, waking Mum up.
“Turn that shit dahn!” she yelled.
But when she thundered through the door, even she burst out laughing when she saw us dancing like mannequins under the strobes. Within a few minutes she had thrown off her dressing gown and was dancing with us in her pyjamas.
There were no arguments that night. Before you knew it, me, Mum and Yusuf were robot-ing under the strobes like there was no tomorrow.
But I should have known better than to relax like that. As she used to say, “Chicken be merry, hawk deh near.”
The Secret
The 28s, Junction Boys, Peckham Boys and the Ghetto Boys. They were the postcode celebrities of South London. They ruled over the estates I knew like generals commanding their own little patch. They were the ones with all the latest Versace, Iceberg, D&G and Moschino gear, the ones the girls wanted to sleep with. They had their choice of women.
But there was one big difference between me and the other girls – I didn’t want to sleep with them. As I got to know them all better, I became accepted as one of the lads. They just felt like brothers to me. For a couple of them, I would become willing to put my life at risk.
Loyalty stood strong. I learned that quickly. If a situation arises, and you’re seen not to have someone’s back, you’d be cast aside. Yeah, loyalty was a big deal. Or so I thought.
I don’t know whether it was because I was a girl, or because I was a vicious girl, but I got away with a lot. I also had another advantage the rest of the “men” of the Man Dem did not. If I didn’t feel like getting in an altercation, or joining a brawl on a particular day, I could leave them to it – because no one expected me to get involved in the first place.
I saw them more and more often, with or without Tyrone. When I heard people saying I heard you’re part of that crew, I just went with it. No Youngers ever corrected them. Brawling was our ting. When an altercation kicked off, I would be very much involved. I was always willing to get stuck in, and that surprised them.
How did I know I had become one of them? I knew because I was accepted. With these characters you know when you’re not wanted. If you weren’t trusted, you’d be denounced as a fool and a folly, a waste of space. You’d be ridiculed as “moist”.
They were fearless, and willing to do their ting, if necessary. Some of it was lies, some of it was hype, but you’re not going to challenge them to prove it.
As I said, gang life has its own justice. If you were a face to be known, you’d be known. Mine soon became known around Tyrone’s estate. Not as a girlfriend, or a sister, or some sort of groupie – I wasn’t interested in any of that – but as one of the Man Dem themselves.
I ignored Drex’s calls. There was no shortage of girls hanging around the peripheries for a sniff around him. I left them to it. Their hair was gelled and styled. They wore short skirts and tight-fitting clothes. I saw them throw themselves at the brand-names, and heard the way the bloods talked about them later. I was determined that would n
ot happen to me. No, there would be no complications like that.
Most boys were scared of me and that suited me fine. Some saw me as a challenge. She’s a bad girl on the street, so she must be a bad girl in the bedroom.
No one moved to me, and that was the way I liked it. I knew that was the only way I’d get their respect. Soon there were guys I didn’t even know who were bragging about sleeping with me. I took no notice. I enjoyed it as my own private joke – because little did they know they were boasting about sleeping with a virgin.
Entertainment
Badness bought things, and we were of high calibre. Nowadays it’s just postcode wars for the sake of it, but we had something else motivating us in the Younger 28s: greed. We were money-orientated. We wanted money. We came from homes that had none, and we wanted more of it.
Brixton was changing. On the outskirts of our estates, young white professionals were moving in, new shops were opening up among the bookies and chicken shops. New money was coming in too, at least for those born into it. We wanted it for ourselves. It was dog eat dog.
I had my own rules. Businesses, bookmakers – all fair game. Holding a knife to some woman’s throat on her way home from work, as she gets the keys out to her front door, nah, no thanks. There had to be limits.
But the reality was this: if you weren’t naughty, how could you fund the lifestyle? How would you pay for the Moet? Everyone said that was the only drink worth drinking. I had a bigger, stronger crew to chill with now. With more money in my pocket, I could afford the better things in life. Or at least, some of them.
No one ever questioned why a young girl in Roupell Park had a row of empty Moet bottles lined up along her bedroom window.
Occasionally you would hear of someone going to work a day shift somewhere, but truth was you were seen as a joke if you worked. It was like clown’s work. Why put yourself through it?
How did I get the money? Well, I’d wake up late every morning, asking myself what was it going to be today? Steaming the small shops was for the rugrats. Rolling with Badman, Drex and the Man Dem made me more ambitious. I thought about all sorts – in the days before hi-tech security made it impossible.
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