Читать книгу Sour: My Story: A troubled girl from a broken home. The Brixton gang she nearly died for. The baby she fought to live for. - Tracey Miller - Страница 15

A new life was about to begin. The irony was that my association with the Younger 28s began nowhere near the ganglands of Angell Town or Brixton or Loughborough Junction, but the one place as close to an Eden of childhood innocence as a South London girl like me was ever going to get.

Ladies and gentlemen, I’m talking, of course, about Chessington World of Adventures.

Yeah, my first day rolling with the Man Dem was on a school trip to the distinctly non-gritty, suburban surroundings of a Surrey theme park.

Like I said, Dick Shits had many problems. One of them was its popularity with the bad boys. Despite what the papers say, despite all those London Tonight reporters in suits and ties, talking down the camera about feral kids beyond the reach of teachers, parents and police, the truth was that some of the city’s most troublesome young gangsters liked the lawless vibe of my school so much, they muscled their way through the gates and gatecrashed the lessons.

That went for school trips too – especially school trips involving Tomb Blaster laser guns and a rollercoaster called Dragon Fury.

They met us at the tube station, pushing their way on to the carriage in the same way they filed into classes.

There were lots of different rugrats running around, but these youts were different.

They were all dressed decently. Their trainers were fresh, their haircuts were fresh. Hell, even the waistbands of their boxer shorts were fresh. They looked older, though they couldn’t have been much older than us – they were just expelled a long time ago.

They weren’t hard-out established characters. Not then. They were all still young, trying to find their way and make their mark, just like the rest of us. But back then, it felt like Vinnie Jones and all his mates had just stepped on to the tube.

The loudest ones commandeered the seats in front of us, placing shining white creps on the seats and commanding the attention of the carriage.

A boy with a broad grin came up to Tyrone and knocked knuckles before exchanging a few quiet words.

“You know him?” I whispered.

“Just one of the boys from the estate, innit. Told ’em we had a trip but didn’t think they’d actually come.”

I smiled.

“I like them. Think we’re in for an interesting day.”

The moment we stepped into the park, the two-tails scurried round.

I had my own plans. I had my own delegating to do. They were ready to steal anything they could lay their hands on. I gave them a target.

“Let’s see if you’re going to hit it.” They nodded, solemnly.

“Meet me back here by the toilets at 3pm.”

The tallest of the group caught my eye. Or rather I caught his. He walked over to me and Tyrone. While he was brash and loud, the friend by his side had a quieter confidence.

“Who’s this girl telling everyone what to do?”

Tyrone answered for me.

“This’s Sour, innit.”

I glared at him. If he had taken a liking to me I wasn’t interested.

“Check you out, gyal,” he laughed.

I noticed he too had his own gang of rugrats to carry out orders. It was almost like he had a shopping list of his own. He wanted to compare.

“What you hitting today? How much you planning to make?”

“Why would I tell you that? Only just met you, man. Where do you think you’re coming from?”

Tyrone laughed.

“Slow down, man,” said his friend, flashing a beautiful smile. “Lady wants an introduction. Allow me,” he said, stepping forward. “That’s Badman. His manners ain’t so good.”

“Quit stepping on man’s territory, Drex.”

“Ain’t you got business to do?” he laughed, joining the rest of the Man Dem as they jumped the queues, slipped past the ticket booths and created havoc.

“He don’t like the rides,” Drex explained.

“Why not?”

“Paranoid. Y’know the pictures they take when you’re screaming and getting tipped over the edge? The ones they try to sell you after the ride?”

“Yeah, and?”

“Man don’t trust ’em, innit. Thinks boydem will use them as evidence against him.”

“Evidence of what? Looking shit scared?”

Drex laughed.

“Dunno. That’s a guilty conscience for you.”

“Come on,” he said. “I’m feeling lucky. Let’s go on the Mary Rose.”

I was surprised how forward he was. He clearly wasn’t used to girls hesitating.

“Just me and you?”

“Why not? Man Dem will find us later.”

I looked at the swinging galleon ship. The two-tails weren’t due back for ages. I had time.

“OK. So you’re not scared about having your picture taken?”

“Maybe my conscience ain’t so guilty.”

“Alright, let’s go,” I said. “Just remember you don’t have to scream or anything, but it may harm your defence if you don’t scream something you’ll later rely on in court.”

He laughed. “How’s a girl like you familiar with that?”

“Ain’t telling you,” I smiled. “Hurry up. I gotta be back here for 3pm.”

When the ride was over, I was heading towards the exit, windswept and dizzy, when he grabbed my hand.

“Where you going? Ride’s not finished.”

And he led me round the metal platform and back to the front of the queue to do it all again.

After our fourth round, we staggered off the ship and on to dry land. Oh my days, I didn’t know whether to laugh or be sick. We slumped down on a bench. I realised we must have been away for ages.

He disappeared for five minutes and came back with two burgers, handing me one as he sat down on the bench.

“Which part you from?” he asked, offering me the choice of a sachet of ketchup or mustard.

“Brixton Hill,” I replied, refusing both.

“No! Me too.”

We found we lived three blocks away from each other. He spotted my bracelet, which had slipped down from underneath the sleeve of my jumper, and noted the Arabic script.

“You Muslim?”

“None of your business.”

“What’s your number?”

I didn’t like all his questions.

“What do you want my number for?”

“Man wants your number, innit?”

Fat chance. The chances of my mum tolerating a call from a boy were negligible.

“She’d rather I get caught doing a crime than having a boy call my house.”

“From what man heard, she’s probably gonna get her wish,” he shrugged, rearranging the fold of his jeans. “If that’s what you want, that’s cool,” he said, jumping down off the picnic table. He had spotted Badman. I knew the two-tails would be waiting for me back at the toilets, but I was no longer interested in the crumbs they had to offer.

These new characters carried weight, and that had caught my attention.

From a distance, I watched as he and Badman greeted each other, pressing shoulders and patting each other on the back. I also saw a discreet exchange as one pressed cash into the hand of the other.

“Sour! Come, man.”

The pair of them beckoned me over to the fake wooden decking, where the rest of the Man Dem were falling over each other to get in to a photo booth, decorated like an old Wild West Saloon.

Nothing had got paid for that day. Well, nothing until that moment. Suddenly they were all willing to cough up for this.

The group of them emerged from the changing rooms, giggling like children at each other’s cravats and waistcoats and chaps and broad-brimmed hats. Each and everyone brandished a huge plastic musket. Drex arranged his false moustache, while Badman held his gun aloft.

“Here, put this on.”

He spiked some pink ostrich feathers in my hair, and fastened a black satin choker round my neck.

“Saloon girl!”

“You gotta be taking the piss.”

He found it hilarious, and swung an arm round me, pulling me into the group picture.

“Cheese.”

The flash bulb went off, illuminating the chains among the rawhide fancy dress.

The picture was sepia, in a big, flimsy frame that said WANTED above our heads. The boys loved it.

Drex dug into his pocket and bought another one for me.

“Present,” he said. The rest were laughing.

“That’s wicked, man. Look how he had his face!”

“Look at that pose!”

“Suits you, gyal.”

“That pistol suits you, man, time for an upgrade, innit.”

They laughed all the way home. It was the only thing they were willing to pay for. They stumped up their £2 no questions asked, and each boy took it home as if it were as precious as a ransom fee.

I rolled mine up and slipped it into my hoodie.

I often wonder where that picture is now. Me on my first day with the Man Dem. A few young friends posing with plastic guns – before the real weapons intervened and changed everything.