Sour

by Tracey Miller

  “Show me what?”

  I beamed. “How easy it is, obviously.”

  But his expression was not the one I had expected.

  “I’ve got to get home.”

  We were walking back to the bus stop, in silence, when we stopped to speak to the group of youts on the corner. I knew Styles from Roupell Park. The rest of his crew were cool.

  “What you on?”

  We chatted for a bit, until I turned round and realised Tyrone had gone. Fuck him. More than that, Styles and his crew seemed a bit wired. He had one eye on me and another on the glass doors of Woolworths.

  An excited whisper buzzed round the crew.

  “This one.”

  “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

  “Catch you later, yeah?” said Styles. He was acting strange.

  The white woman was carrying a flat-screen TV, fresh from the shop. She was struggling. From the other side of the road, I watched Styles and his crew surround her. Seconds later she had been relieved of her new purchase, in broad daylight. The rest of them were sprinting down the street, before she even got a chance to scream.

  Respect. Now, that took heart.

  Suddenly, my tiefing from the butchers felt pretty amateur.

  I didn’t think to run too. After all, this didn’t have nothing to do with me. Trouble was, I’d been seen by witnesses, hadn’t I? Boydem arrived a few minutes later and scooped us all up.

  This time there was no nice day out at the old bill. This time round they treated me like a criminal. I recognised the police officer at the station, and he recognised me.

  “You and your friends have had a busy day,” he said, not looking up as he filled out his paperwork.

  I’m innocent, I wanted to shout. Sort of. It was only thirty quid! That ain’t even my crew.

  Instead, I just huffed and puffed.

  All I had on my mind was … how am I going to explain this one to Mum? Being thugged on the streets was one thing, having to explain why I’ve been arrested is another, and getting clapped down in public is just dread.

  I knew due to my age I would need an appropriate adult. I knew Mum was on her way. I knew I had to brace myself.

  In the interview room all was calm. Mum had a face like thunder. The officers clocked that she wasn’t happy. I just gave “No comment” answers throughout my interview. It wrapped up quite quickly as I wasn’t saying much.

  “Oi! Watch the nails,” I spat, when they took my prints, putting their dirty ink on my nicely done manicure, pressing each finger into separate boxes on the paper.

  “Look left, look right.”

  They didn’t warn me I was going to have a mug shot taken. I started frantically trying to smooth my hair. I wanted it to be a good one.

  “Hang on, I ain’t ready.”

  The flash went off anyway.

  My hair wasn’t even done right.

  “Your details will be kept on file …”

  He droned on about the youth court and some nonsense about a date for the hearing being sent to me in due course, but I wasn’t really listening.

  I was just taking in the interior of a building I’d sat outside so many times. I had to admit, I felt disappointed. It was much more boring than I’d imagined. There were lots of leaflets and notice boards at reception. It felt like entering the world’s worst leisure centre.

  The officer seemed in no mood for banter. In fact, hardly anyone spoke to me at all. They kept me in the cells overnight. No more nice cups of tea, or wishes of good luck. At least, on the plus side, I’d finally been served an injustice by the state. Boydem could finally become the enemy for me too.

  “OK, so this is how the game goes,” I thought, as we left. “Now I’ve got a story to tell.”

  Mum lectured me all the way home. I didn’t pay her much attention.

  I was getting to grips with the system. And really, if that was it, what was there to be fearful of?

  Getting in Deeper

  “Sour, come on. Get a move on!”

  Stimpy and his friend were shouting up to the window.

  I leaned out of the bath and reached across for my mobile, careful not to get it wet with bubbles.

  “DOWN IN 15” I texted, and lay back in the tub.

  I always made a point of having a nice long bath before going on the road. I might never have seen the inside of a prison cell, but I was pretty sure spa treatments weren’t part of the package.

  If ever there was a chance I could spend a night inside one, I wanted to be clean. No girl likes that less than fresh feeling. Stimpy would have to wait.

  The Youngers were getting younger. There had been some changes since Cyrus’s death.

  And the Olders? Well, they were getting fewer. Cyrus was dead. No one ever mentioned his name, and had Stimpy not told me I wondered how long I would have waited to find out he died the day after the altercation.

  A new generation of rugrats were chasing at our heels, only too eager to take up the empty places.

  They kept us on our toes too. They were hungry. They had that fire in the belly. They were willing to learn, adapt easily and willing to take risks. As a result, we were willing to teach them. Stimpy and I had agreed to go out rolling with this new crew. They respected us as elders of the group.

  I heard they had been doing well. Grabbing not just hundreds but thousands of pounds at a time.

  They were never violent. They didn’t want to hurt anyone. Just run into the place and disappear, that was their plan. That’s what I liked about it. I wanted to see how these guys moved.

  If they’ve got a quicker, easier way of earning money than I have, I wanted to know about it.

  I told Drex I’d see him and the rest of the Man Dem later.

  In the meantime, I had business to attend to. Little did I know when I agreed to it that it meant leaving the house at flipping seven in the morning. Stimpy threw a pebble up at the window. “Come on!”

  His friend held his finger down on the doorbell.

  “OK, OK, I’m coming.”

  I got out of the bath, wrapped myself in a towel and padded across the hallway, still dripping wet.

  Man, these guys were worse than my mum.

  Still, every new day brought a new buzz. New Man Dem brought a new vibe. I knew an adrenalin rush was going to be had.

  I dressed in my usual gear: hoodie, tracksuit bottoms, vest top, and shoved some jewellery in my pocket.

  As soon as I pulled on that tight vest to flatten my boobies, my posture changed, my voice became deeper. I was ready to roll like a boy.

  They wanted to go way out, far out of town. Out of London in fact. It was a serious day trip, with train tickets and shit.

  There were five of us in total. They seemed like switched-on kids, but the risk of rolling with strangers was niggling at me. This made me uneasy. I made a promise to myself that from now on I’d only take risks with Man Dem I know.

  They were laughing and joking, and betting each other who would be first to set the pace. Their lack of an exit plan worried me. They hadn’t seemed to have considered beyond getting their hands on the cash.

  I started regretting getting out of my bed so early for such an amateur operation. I shared my concerns with Stimpy.

  “I’ve seen the cash these kids make, Sour,” he said. “Trust me, they know what they’re doing.”

  Half an hour later we were approaching a small car showroom in a shitty High Street.

  The lively one pulled up his scarf and yanked down his baseball cap.

  “Ready?” he rasped.

  “Go!”

  He ran in first. In the flash of a few seconds they had all run in, Stimpy included.

  Shall I even bother? For a moment I thought about leaving them to it and carrying on up the road, but I knew that was unforgivable. Even if I didn’t know the rest, Stimpy was my blood. I had to have his back.

  The tallest one had already jumped over a car towards the back. I yanked the bandanna up over my mouth and ra
ced inside.

  There were more customers than I’d expected. I could see immediately the mistake they had made. All three had darted into the office, leaving the least intimidating one of them all – Stimpy – to control the floor.

  I knew the police would have been called. They were on their way.

  The staff were compliant. That was one thing. They were listening to orders. No have-a-go heroes here. Not at the moment.

  What was taking them so long?

  My heart thumped. My pulse throbbed. I puffed out my chest, spread my weight, and stood as wide as I could. The customers were getting restless.

  I sensed that one of them, a bookish guy wearing glasses and dad jeans, was thinking about doing something. Stimpy had his back turned to him and didn’t see him get to his knees.

  I had to make a decision.

  “Leave it, let’s go!” I shouted.

  My hands were trembling.

  We needed to get the fuck out. Just get the money and then get out. What was taking them so long behind there?

  I could hear the police sirens. I looked at the double doors on to the street, and back again over the counter. Still no sign of the Youngers. Stimpy was looking at the street too. The sirens were getting louder.

  One boy appeared. Where was the cash? Where were the others?

  “They’re locked in,” he shouted, sprinting for the door.

  Stimpy and I both looked at each other and bolted towards the sunlight.

  The boy went one way. We went the other.

  I grabbed Stimpy’s arm and dragged him into a side street.

  “What you doing? We gotta get –”

  “Take off your hoodie and link into my arm.”

  “What? Let go of me!”

  We’d pulled the bandannas from our faces and stuffed them into our pockets. I whipped off my hoodie and tied it round my waist, and loosened up my hair.

  “Trust me. Just link in, and walk slowly. Like me and you are rolling on a date.”

  The penny dropped.

  Stimpy put an arm around my waist and sauntered down the street as if I was his girl – to the police officers arriving on the scene we were just an innocent young couple in love.

  Stimpy went to visit the rugrats in prison not long after. He couldn’t wait to tell me what he’d heard.

  “They said the police kept on asking them back at the station, ‘What did you expect to find in an old car showroom?’ They said they had to stop themself from laughing. The police were right. What a waste of time.”

  I got lucky. I knew my luck was going to run out some time. I didn’t know that it would happen that very same day.

  Betrayal

  Stimpy and I got back to Brixton early that afternoon. He decided he would stay in and lie low, but I couldn’t wait to tell Drex, Badman and the rest what had gone down. I walked to Myatt’s Field but they weren’t there. Tyrone said he hadn’t seen them around. I remembered Drex mentioned something about a rendezvous in Angell Town, so I headed that way.

  By the time I approached the concrete maze it was getting dark. The vampires would soon be coming out to play.

  I swung alone on the swings and considered going back home. That’s when I remembered. He said he was going to Daggers’ flat. It was nearby. Daggers was one of the few of the Man Dem to have his own place.

  He had grown on me. The Man Dem liked him. He was a main character – he fought when he needed to fight, he robbed when he needed to rob. He was someone to be respected.

  Everyone used to go and hang out at his a lot.

  By now it was around 11-ish. A perfect time to go see who was jamming at his house.

  I knocked at the door.

  He seemed surprised to see me. A bit sleepy. I thought for a second I might have woken him up.

  “Alright,” he said, with a sluggish smile. “What’s gawn?”

  “Where’s dem lot?”

  “Dunno. Haven’t seen them all day. They said they’d come back here when they’re finished doing what they’re doing. Come on in.”

  For a young person, his flat was neat. Decently done up too. He had nice equipment: leather chairs, the latest console …

  He offered me a drink.

  “Coke’s fine.”

  He chucked me a can and opened himself a beer.

  We sat down and made ourselves comfy.

  “Where you been, Sour? How come man ain’t seen you?”

  “I’ve been around.”

  “Yeah?”

  “What you been up to?”

  I thought about telling him about our lucky escape but hesitated. I didn’t quite trust him enough for that.

  “Ah, nutting, man. Roads are quiet, y’nah. I’m keeping my head low.”

  I asked after his mum and sister, who I knew from Brixton Hill.

  He put on some music on the stereo. Snoop Dogg. He noticed me eyeing up his console.

  “Wanna game of Street Fighter?”

  “If you think you’re hard enough.”

  He laughed, pulled out a second player remote from the box under the TV and threw it on my lap on the settee. “You got brass balls, gyal.”

  “I’m being Chun-Li.”

  He went for Zangief, the wrestler.

  We played for the rest of the evening, laughing and shrieking as we pounded each other with spinning piledrivers and lightning kicks.

  When I started listening to Snoop Dogg tracks for the fourth time, I realised it was probably time to be leaving. I glanced at the clock. It was after 1.30am.

  “I thought you said Man Dem were coming here?”

  “Yeah, they knock on my door anytime. They’ll be here soon.”

  “Thanks for the game, but I’m going to go, innit.”

  “Why?”

  He leaned forward, too close for my liking, and put his arm on my shoulder. I leaned back. His breath stank.

  “Stay.”

  As I tried to get up, he pinned me down to the settee. It stank of cat piss. At first I thought he was joking. I thought we were play-fighting.

  “No, really, I need to go.”

  “Go where?”

  I squirmed, but he was too strong. He had thick arms, from going to the gym.

  He threw me back.

  “Get off of me!”

  I tried to shout some more, but he applied his body weight to my chest, pinning me down on the settee.

  The Streetfighter game flashed on the screen, paused for the next game. The tinny soundtrack went on and on, on a maddening loop.

  I felt suffocated. I couldn’t breathe. It dawned that no one was coming. Panic rose in my chest. He yanked at my trousers. Why hadn’t I kept my knife belt on? I could see my knife lying in my drawer at home, of no use to anyone.

  Why didn’t I have it with me?

  I fought to keep my jeans on, but I was no match for him. Daggers pressed down on top of me. I felt like I was in the sea and drowning. He was wrapped round me, inside me, pulling me under.

  Resistance was futile. I couldn’t believe what was happening. Let him do what he’s going to do, I told myself, as he groaned, and squeezed my breast till the skin drew blood. I stared at Chun Li repeating the same kicks over and over again, waiting for the game to resume, and had never felt so powerless. You can’t beat him, Sour. Just let him do what he’s got to do.

  As he pulled up his trousers, he had the cheek to be normal, asking me how I was getting home, and what I was on tomorrow, and chatting about the Man Dem. I fastened up my buttons with trembling fingers, grunted a few monosyllabic responses, and gathered up my stuff.

  I didn’t look up. He showed me to the door.

  “See you tomorrow,” he said. The door fell softly behind me.

  The streets were quiet.

  That walk home that night was real serious. I felt dirty and cheap. Worse, I felt like an idiot.

  How could I have been so stupid? Did I bring it on? Did I say something to give him the wrong idea? I shouldn’t have been there at that ti
me. I was the one who went knocking on his door, after all, not the other way round. I replayed the events in my head, over and over again. Did I say something that could have been taken in the wrong way? My mind hurt, trying to process it all.

  I tried to shake out the voice that kept saying it must have been my fault.

  I couldn’t think straight. Everything was clouded in thoughts and tears.

  But I was one of the boys … No one would dare do that. Maybe I wasn’t as invincible as I thought.

  I was tormented. I should have done more to protect myself. Yeah, the walk home that night was real serious. The same thoughts rattled round my brain on repeat.

  By the time I got home I had made a plan. I knew exactly what I was going to do. I decided not to take action immediately. I would wait.

  In the meantime, all I wanted to do was have a bath. I lay in it till the water ran cold. It gave me no pleasure. An ugly thought rose up in my mind: if I killed him, I would be committing a crime against my own. I didn’t sleep that night. Quietly, with my knife under my pillow, I cried for the first time since I was a child.

  For the next few days I didn’t go out. I didn’t answer the phone. I didn’t talk to no one.

  “Salwa!” Mum yelled. “That bloodclart’s on de phone again. Speak to him, or tell him to stop disturbing dis house.”

  “What’s going on?”

  Drex sounded annoyed. There was no warmth or mischief in his voice.

  “What you talking about?”

  “Man Dem saying you’re cheating on me. S’true? Say you sleeping around?”

  “You for real?”

  If only he knew. I didn’t have the energy to go into it.

  Turned out Daggers was bragging about banging the Queen Bee. Of course he was. Word had got around.

  “Man Dem’s round at his house now. Come round. Man wants to know what went on, innit.”

  The prospect of being in that house again made me feel sick. But at the same time, if everybody was there, I could feel safe. If I didn’t go, there would be no one to defend me. He would poison their minds against me and say what he liked. They’d think I was a sket like all the rest.

  But there was another advantage of paying that flat a visit. It would give me another look at the property as well. Certain details could come in handy. Were there other exit routes? Where did he keep his weaponry? Those things needed to be accounted for, before I put my plan into action. I pulled on jeans and a hoodie, and whipped on my belt.