I assessed the situation. Cyrus, Badman and the rest had now arrived, and were deep in conversation over by the rides. They looked serious.
The sun was shining. Couples were lying back on tartan rugs, eating ice cream. Families were eating by the barbeque. There didn’t seem no sign of trouble. Not yet. But it wouldn’t be far away. I noticed the arrival of more familiar faces among the crowd. The ranks were swelling.
I looked at Aidan. It wasn’t just Maverick who was cooped up all day. I never saw those kids outside.
“OK, but make it quick. Gadget, come here. Do us a favour, man, and look after him for a second?”
“You’re taking the piss, man! I ain’t …”
“Ain’t nothing to worry about. He’s tied up. He’s not going anywhere. All you got to do is stand by so, y’know, he doesn’t get boisterous, innit.”
“Boisterous how?”
He stepped gingerly towards the dog.
“Just do it. I’ll be back in a second.”
I took Aidan over to the donkey rides, and gave him a couple of coins as he joined the queue. “That’s my payment for hiring your dog. I’m gonna get a burger, and I’ll meet you back here once you’re finished, OK?”
He looked delighted. As I waited on my burger, I caught sight of his blond bob as he was lifted onto the saddle and led around the ring.
I’d nearly finished the burger when I got back to Maverick. He was looking anxious, whimpering and tugging at the post. Gadget was nowhere to be seen.
“Man’s useless.”
Maverick was getting really unsettled now. I poured him some of my coke, and a greedy tongue sponged it up from the grass. He was pulling towards the open park. “What’s wrong, boy?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone sprinting. Youts were running left and right. Stimpy saw me.
“Sour!” he shouted. “It’s on!”
Man Dem were being rushed. Somebody screamed. A steward in a fluorescent jacket started jabbering into his walkie-talkie.
The coke can fell from my hand, leaving Maverick to lick up the rest from the hot earth. I grabbed my knife from my belt, and bolted into the fray. One form makes many. I jumped into the scrum.
Sharp-edged trainers thrashed at my shins. Random fists punched into my kidneys. It was a brawl. Twenty, thirty, possibly more kids were locked in combat. A hand reached for my throat. Another arm wrapped itself round my neck. I tried jabbing the knife behind me, but it sliced through thin air. I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to stab the arm that was holding me in a headlock or the fingers pressing on my throat, but there was too much movement. I couldn’t get a clear cut. I would have stabbed my own self. The knife fell from my grasp, into the grass.
My eyes were watering. The grip refused to loosen. I squirmed and wriggled and gnashed my teeth, but I couldn’t hold it for much longer.
Psssszzzt!
I heard a canister explode. It sounded like a firework. Gadget must have brought his CS gas. The spray stung my eyes, till I could see nothing, and burned all the way down to my lungs. The arm slipped away, the fingers faded from my throat. I collapsed on to my hands and knees, coughing and spluttering like all the rest.
Blindly, I fumbled around for my knife in the grass, fumbling till I felt the familiar touch of the bone handle. The gas would buy us some time, but not a lot.
Eyes streaming, chest on fire, I staggered back towards the rides. Amid the chaos I heard whooping. Gadget had come up trumps.
Maverick was pacing back and forth, having bent the fence post, which was almost uprooted completely. Beside him was Aidan, looking lost.
“Untie him,” I shouted, scrambling from the smoking carnage.
I grabbed his hand, and the three of us bolted out of Brockwell Park faster than you can say chlorobenzylidene malonitrile.
And my dog-walking days were over.
Boydem had made bare arrests but none of us. Lambeth had been a big success for the Man Dem and we were all feeling confident.
There was another breakthrough. My mum didn’t hang up the next time Drex called. I’d managed to persuade her we were friends, nothing more.
That was the deal. I’d go to his dad’s house to pick him up or he’d meet me outside the police station with the rest of the Man Dem. That was it. But despite all my efforts to convince myself otherwise, something was happening.
I started recognising the same feeling whenever I turned up by the tree by the station on Brixton Road and couldn’t see that beautiful smile in the crowd. I think it’s called disappointment.
The rugrats had been doing well. They worked together as a team. The more they did, the quicker, smoother their operations became. I liked having money in my pocket. And I loved going out and spending it.
The Friday night jungle raves in the West End were our favourite haunt. They always started the same way: with some shopping in Bond Street.
The £200 from their latest steam was burning a hole in my pocket, and I couldn’t wait to spend it.
The thrill began just buying that Travelcard. Even hopping on that Friday afternoon train felt exciting. It felt like something new. As soon as I stepped off the train on to that platform, I felt like I had joined the corporate world of London, swept up and away in an army of soulless soldiers. It was fast-paced, everyone walking in different directions, bumping into you, into each other. No smiling, no speaking, no nothing.
Emerging from Oxford Circus tube, I felt like a tourist entering a whole different city. The illuminated streets looked beautiful and daunting. I threw away my McDonalds, keeping the large coke, and made my way to Bond Street. Today, darling, I was going legitimate.
I went to the same shop we all went to: Proibito. When I say they had a selection, I mean they had a selection. Iceberg, Moschino, Dolce & Gabbana, Versace – or Versase, as I called it back then.
I was a big D&G fan. The shop was always full of youngsters, attracted by the loud garage music and the excess of designer labels. Only groups of three were allowed in at a time. That was how they controlled the door. Mean-looking security guards floated the floor, every now and again chucking out kids caught swapping the labels and trying to stuff Moschino’s finest into their bags. I could feel them watching me, judging me, as I browsed the rails.
The staff were helpful to others, cold and stand-offish to me. I couldn’t blame them. I was used to it. I liked the smugness, this time, of proving them wrong.
My hand brushed over all the neatly folded clothes until I saw what I was looking for: that Versace logo. I fell in love with this devil head, with snakes for hair. Medusa. Now there was a chick with heart. It was repeated along a whole row of beautiful trousers.
It was a novelty picking an item on account of its size. I was used to lifting the ones that were easiest to steal. If you lifted something that fit, it was a bonus.
I picked up the beautiful trousers. I had to try these on.
It was a novelty, picking them up, draping them over my arm and walking face-straight to the changing rooms. I had never done this before. Usually, by this time, I was heading for the door.
That night at the Mostyn Club had got me thinking. I couldn’t just dress exactly like the Man Dem no more. If I was to be Queen Bee, I needed to dress like one.
The trousers were tight, with stripes down them. They would go nice with my tight-fitting crew-neck vest top with a bit of pink, a bit of lime green. Every outfit needed new trainers. Reebok Classics, obviously.
I wriggled out of them, satisfied I looked the part, and walked proudly to the counter. I knew I was going to be judged, but I didn’t care. I had money! Money talks. I was buying legitimacy. I joined the queue. I felt like I belonged.
Then I had a thought. I wanted to buy Drex a gift. But what? He didn’t like the loud stuff. No Gadget garmz. I spotted a mannequin wearing a silk bomber jacket. It was multicoloured. I counted my money. I had enough. I grabbed one and took it to the counter.
That day, I walked out of Proibitos wearing
my bags of pride.
It was time to go home, get ready and do my hair.
“Wow, you look super-nice.”
Kez had come over to pick me up. I realised I hadn’t seen her in so long. I was glad to see her.
“How does it stay up?”
“Hairspray, innit.”
She was admiring my new beehive. I’d dyed the front honey blonde, and smoothed the rest of my thick, black hair up on top of my head. I’d used about an entire can of Silvikrin to keep it in place and now it felt storm-proof.
The beehive served a second purpose. My hair had got so long, but I could never go out to a function with it left down. Left me vulnerable, innit. Anybody could pull it, or set it alight in an altercation. I was probably the only girl going out that night wearing a beehive for safety reasons.
I’d lashed on heavy flicks of liquid eyeliner and matted out my fresh skin with Iman powder. My skin was still clear back then – I didn’t go imaging up my face with tattoos till later. The finishing touch was my new gold lipstick. Yeah, I was fly.
I checked my nose piercing in the mirror and squirted on Jean Paul Gaultier. Mmm. I loved that bottle. So feminine and beautiful.
I was ready.
“Hold on,” said Kez, “how are we getting to this place? Cab?”
“Nah, let’s walk to Brixton. Trust me, there will be a carriage awaiting.”
I was liking my new lifestyle. Telling you, man, I used to walk down Brixton High Street like there was a red carpet before me. I got my swagger on. I drank champagne and wore designer threads. Every night was a different club night: the Astoria, Vegas, Telepathy. I knew I could walk in alone to any one of them, and always know someone. Being one of the Man Dem might have given you rivals you’d never met, but it also gave you connections.
Sure enough, we were walking on the hill for just a few minutes when someone started to beep. We ignored them at first, obviously, as all teenage girls bored of being beeped at on the street are prone to do.
“Sour?” came a voice I recognised. “Stop blanking, man.”
It was Badman. He was too young to be driving, but that didn’t stop him cruising around in a shitty jalopy thing. It looked like a shed on wheels, which was his pride and joy.
He had stopped the traffic, face-straight, to shout across to us. Angry motorists swerved around him, beeping their frustration. He ignored them.
“Where you going?”
“Astoria.”
“Come on. I’m going to roll in there later. Jump in.”
We hopped in – Keziah in the back, me in the front – and he put his foot down.
Now I had heart, but I had no stomach for Badman’s driving. He weaved through the traffic, swerving around buses and jumping red lights like Pac Man on crack. Kez fumbled for her seatbelt. Badman seemed oblivious.
His windows were down, blowing up our hair. I checked in the wing mirror. My beehive was holding up pretty well. Like I said, storm-proof.
“Astoria’s gonna be a jump-off tonight,” he said. “How’s man getting in?”
We had checked that.
“We got tickets, innit?”
Badman checked his phone, letting the car drift across the lanes. Kez yelped and he corrected the wheel just in time. This was a high-speed flipping drive.
“Are we going to be on time?” asked Kez, realising how late it was.
I prayed that we’d get to the venue at all.
“If man ain’t got a ticket, how you going to get in later?” I asked.
“Don’t worry, man. Deal with that when we get there, innit. Gonna boar through.”
Using bodily force to get past security was a tried-and-tested method. One form makes many. As long as there was enough of you, it was much easier than you think.
I suddenly noticed what he was wearing. His jeans were dirty and stained. He looked like he hadn’t changed his top in days. If you didn’t look sharp at the Astoria, you wouldn’t last long.
“Bruv, what you wearing?”
“Don’t watch ma garm, Sour!” he said, suddenly self-conscious. “Feds nicked me overnight, innit. Gotta go home and change.”
“And you wonder why you don’t get no girls …”
He let go of the steering wheel to play-punch me.
“Watch the road, man!” I shouted.
He laughed and threw his phone on to my lap.
“Phone, man, see if man’s going.”
It was already ringing. Drex picked up.
“You rolling out tonight?”
“Yeah, whole crew’s rolling tonight,” he said. We arranged to meet inside, and I threw the phone back at Badman, who had pulled up near the Astoria across double yellow lines.
He had reminded me. I was going to give it to him inside, but this was better. I pulled the multicoloured silk bomber jacket out of my bag.
“Here. Give this to Drex for me, yeah? A delivery he requested. Thanks for the lift.”
Badman nodded, and chucked it in the back seat.
The whole world had come out tonight. Kez groaned when she saw the queue. I didn’t. I was heading straight to the VIP where I knew one of the characters on the door.
Security guards hauled boys out of the queue, patting them down. No one was paying attention to the girls.
We slipped underneath the velvet rope and stepped into the flickering lights of the dark nightclub, where the bass line pulsed through our bodies.
We headed to the bar. Guys were tagging us from left and right, all wanting to have a chat, buy us a drink. It was annoying. Kez got cornered for a second by some poor guy who looked like something from the zoo. He grabbed her by the shoulders.
“Come here,” he smiled. “You ain’t going nowhere.”
I stepped in. I was tempted to switch on him, but it was too early in the night. Outgoing fire attracts incoming fire. I didn’t want no one here knowing I had a heart, unless they really had to.
“I advise you back off, right now, blood.”
Without saying a word, I made it clear there was no point arguing. He shrank, and melted back into the crowd.
Apart from thugs like him, the vibe was nice. Everything was cool. I wondered if there would be trouble. I scanned the room looking for faces to be known.
Peckham Boys didn’t really bring no drama to nights like these. It was the crews from further afield you had to worry about in the West End – the Turks and Chinese crews, mostly.
“What’s gawn on?”
“Ty! Ain’t seen man in ages.”
I gave Tyrone a big hug. He loved his clubnights, Ty. Had more music than anyone I knew.
He introduced himself to Kez and she smiled back. Of course. Why hadn’t I thought about this before? He bought a round of double rum and coke, and we laughed and joked around, talking shit. I was happy to let the pair of them go dancing, while I maintained a lookout from the bar. I liked to see them getting on so well.
I caught the multicoloured jacket out of the corner of my eye. Drex was threading his way round the dancefloor, scanning the club. He was looking for me. My stomach tightened, and I remembered the vows I’d made to myself.
On the other side of the dancefloor, I could see Tyrone and Kez. They were holding hands, moving away to a quieter corner to sit down at one of the tables.
“What do you think?” Drex looked pleased with his gift.
“Man looks sharp,” I said.
He took my hand. I flinched.
“Relax,” he said, softly. “I just want to say thank you. Come on, follow me.”
I put down my rum and followed him.
“But we gotta keep vigilant. Stimpy said he reckoned some of the Enfield boys might move to Cyrus. They’ve been making threats …”
“They can handle themselves,” he said.
Drex lead me downstairs to a chill-out room, cloaked in dark, velvet curtains.
“We can’t be down here. I said I’d have their backs –”
“That’s what I like about you, girl.
You got heart,” he said.
He leaned closer. “Can I tell you something?”
He smelled good.
“I feel safer with you than I feel with the rest of the Man Dem.”
I had his back. Now I knew he had mine.
He put his arm around my waist, pulled me close, and kissed me.
My mind erased all thoughts of the Man Dem and those who might move to them. The only boy I cared about was the one I was with at right that moment.
Drex’s hand was warm, yet it made me shiver as he gently brushed my waist and the exposed skin of my midriff. When his fingers reached the Medusa head, he hesitated. He looked down at the floor and back up at me, eyes twinkling. I noticed for the first time he had great teeth.
“You’re dangerous,” he whispered, feeling for my bum and sliding around the chains that pressed between us. He pulled me closer.
Beyond the curtains, the bass vibrated deeper. I don’t know how long we’d been there when Stimpy raised the alarm.
“Where you been? Man been looking everywhere,” he squealed. “It’s a brawl!”
We ran upstairs. Crowds were running in each and every direction. Bouncers were rushing in. Stimpy slipped in and out of the gaps. We followed him to the exit.
“One of the Enfield crew tried to move to Cyrus. Bust a bottle over his head and stabbed him with the neck.”
I didn’t know which one it was who did the damage. It didn’t matter. We knew what we had to do.
“Where are the others?”
“Don’t know,” said Stimpy.
“We said we’d regroup at the far exit.”
I never wanted to be too far from the drama. For a moment, I was angry I’d missed it.
In altercations like these, we knew we would have to find each other like magnets. Strength in numbers. Stimpy must have passed the word round the club quickly. As we regrouped at the exit, I saw more and more faces that I recognised. Badman had been right. The whole crew was here tonight. Some I didn’t even know their names. I just knew them from the estate. Others were faces to be known. I tried to get a feeling for what was going on.
No one asked how Cyrus was. That was not the primary concern. The objective was to find the Enfield yout.
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