Face (2 page)

Martin loved the forest. He thought other areas of the East End were concrete jungles, with no space to breathe. The Flats were a quick escape to greenery. He knew the area well but he took much of its cultural diversity for granted. At school he learnt how in the sixteenth century French Protestant refugees called Huguenots settled there, then Germans, Chinese, Vietnamese, Jews and Poles had settled too and the latest arrivals were Caribbeans, Africans, Asians and Bosnians.

Some things never change, though. Every bank holiday the funfair came to Wanstead Flats. All the
girls would head there in their girl gangs with their best summer clothes on and the boy gangs would gather with their tough faces and their egos turned on full.

This year Natalie decided to visit the fair with a couple of girlfriends from school, leaving the Gang of Three to themselves. She had gone to the fair before with the boys and she had hated it. All they wanted to do was drive bumper cars, try to win money or stand around posing and trying to look cool. Natalie loved the thrill of the rides, which the boys weren't that keen on, so she wasn't going to let them hold her back.

When the Gang of Three arrived at the fair early in the evening, it was still bright and busy. The sounds of the fair rang out over the Flats and the strange smells of electricity and candyfloss lingered in the air. There was a heavier than usual police presence. It was normal to see a couple of vans in the back streets nearby but tonight there were two vans at the entrance, and extra police on foot.

You could tell that Martin was about to play a prank. He put on his ‘mischievous' face. He raised his eyebrows and rubbed his chin. His nostrils flared as if to send more oxygen to his brain, then he smiled. ‘You two wait here, watch me.'

Martin walked over to a police officer and started to act distressed. He was very convincing. ‘Officer, there's a man over there with a gun!'

The policeman reached for his radio. ‘Where, son?'

Martin pointed. ‘Over there, officer.'

The officer, who was in a state of full alert, turned, only to find a man pointing a rifle at a coconut shy.

‘Hit one coconut and ya get a coconut, hit two and ya get a toy, and if ya hit three ya get a cash prize of a fiver. Can't be bad, good luck, mate,' shouted the vendor on the other side of the counter.

The police officer was furious but relieved. ‘Come here, you,' he shouted to Martin, who was acting cool as he tried to walk away. Martin turned back; Matthew and Mark cautiously headed in his direction to listen in.

‘What da hell do ya think yu doing? Do you wanna spend time in a cell?'

‘What for?'

‘What for? How about wasting police time, or giving false information for a start.'

Martin put on his ‘reasonable' face. ‘What's the matter? Can't ya tek a joke?'

The policeman got angrier and began to point his radio at Martin's face.

‘Listen, son, what you just done is no joke. If I'd got on my radio there could have been up to a hundred officers on this spot within a minute. If you think that's a joke, tell me what's funny about it. Think yourself lucky, lad, I got bigger fish to catch than you tonight. Let me tell ya something, if you ever come my way again I'll nick ya, even if I have to nick ya for
spitting. I'll lock you up quick, geezer, now move!'

Martin's face was expressionless. He wasn't frightened, in fact he was tempted to laugh to show the other two how in control he was, but he didn't want to upset the officer too much. Matthew looked worried and Mark looked impressed. At this point a small group of onlookers had began to gather and a higher-ranking police officer joined his colleague and asked if there was any trouble.

‘No, Sarge, just a kid messing around.'

Matthew grabbed Martin by the wrist and pulled him away. ‘Let's go.'

The police officer repeated his warning. ‘Remember now, if I see your face near me again, make sure you're innocent.'

Martin was proud of his prank. He checked his credibility with Mark. ‘That was cool, wasn't it?'

‘Wicked, guy, you got guts,' Mark replied.

Matthew saw things differently. ‘You're mad – you can't mess with the law, you know – you're crazy. That's a copper, not a teacher.'

Martin put on his ‘victorious' face and proclaimed, ‘The law is an ass.'

As the gang ventured further into the fair it became even more apparent that something was not right. Martin stopped two local boys as they passed. ‘Hey, man, how come there's so many cops out?'

‘There's been trouble,' one of the boys replied.
‘The Stokie Crew came down and started to pick pockets. A couple of them tried to mess with Big E girls, so a Big E brother pull a knife and Stokie Crew have to run.'

‘Any bloodshed?' Mark enquired.

‘Nah, when the Stokie boys see blade, them disappear.'

‘Later,' Martin ended and the two groups went their ways.

The Big E was the Big E Posse, E meaning East, an alliance of East End gangs. Once all the gangs in the East End fought each other, white gangs, black gangs, Muslim gangs, Sikh gangs and Chinese gangs. But when they were all under attack from gangs like the Stokie Crew from Stoke Newington in North London and the South London Massive, they were forced to unite and defend Newham, their piece of East London. When united they were left alone and no blood was shed.

Big gangs still existed on the East Side like the Tigers, the Dread Lions and also school gangs like the Big Six Posse and the Soul Crew but they were all affiliated to the Big E Posse.

Today it seemed that the Stokie Crew had been sent back to North London but the police weren't taking any chances.

It was a hot, sticky Saturday night and East London was alive. Every car stereo was turned to the full, every convertible car was converted and every house that had a fan was burning up electricity. Every fifteen minutes or so sirens could be heard in the distance – and some not so distant. People took it for granted that whatever was going down had nothing to do with them. All they had to do was get out of the way and stay composed as they did so. Even the police looked relaxed tonight: those that were on the cruise had their windows down, shirtsleeves up and radios blasting out – police radio that is, talk radio.

At home Martin had just finished his bath. He stood in his bedroom looking at himself in the full-length mirror making sure his old Kappa sweatshirt and baseball cap went with the Armani jeans that his mother had just bought him. But he wasn't sure about his trainers. Could he wear a pair of cheap Hi-Tec
trainers with his £50 worth of sweatshirt and his £90 worth of jeans? It didn't look right. Then he realised that he didn't have any other trainers anyway. The doorbell rang once, ding-dong, then twice, ding-dong, then there was a continuous ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong. Martin ran down the stairs jumping three steps at a time and sounding like a herd of elephants.

His mother shouted from the living room, ‘Martin, tell ya friend that there's no one here with a hearing problem. One bloody ring is enough – and walk downstairs, will ya.'

When Martin opened the door he found Mark and Matthew trying to keep a straight face. ‘Why ya ringing the bell so much, man. My parents are watching television, man.'

Mark stopped laughing. ‘What's the problem? That's the way ya ring my bell.'

‘Yeah but not if yu parents are in.'

‘Dat's how yu ring it all the time, guy.'

‘I don't, man, I look for ya dad's car first,' Martin said, pointing to the road.

‘My dad doesn't always drive, yu know, guy. Anyway, ya don't even know my dad's car.'

‘Course I do.'

‘What is it, den?'

‘It's a Ford.'

‘Look, how many different Fords there are. What kind of Ford?'

Matthew interrupted, ‘Forget it, let's go.'

Martin shouted back into the flat, ‘Mom, Dad, I'm off out. I'll see ya later.'

‘Hang on a minute.' Martin's mother forced herself to leave the murder mystery she was watching and made her way to the hallway. ‘Now you lot, look after yourselves and don't go getting yourselves into trouble. Any problems give us a ring, all right … and Martin, look after those jeans, they cost a bloody bomb, I should have insured them.'

Mark and Matthew muttered, ‘Yes, Mrs Turner,' holding back the laughter.

Martin felt obliged to answer. ‘Yes, Mom, we're safe, don't worry and if there's any problems with my jeans, I'll ring.'

‘Go on, get out.'

As they approached Natalie's house they walked very slowly, knowing that she would be looking out for them. Martin promised that he would not call attention to himself or look in but he couldn't help having a peep. He called Natalie's father Sherlock, after Sherlock Holmes, because he always wore tweed and he always had a pipe hanging from his mouth, which he never seemed to smoke.

As Martin looked in, there was Sherlock, reading a newspaper on his puffy chair. His chair was placed so that he could watch television and the world outside
the window at the same time. It looked as if her mother was asleep on the settee and he could not see Natalie. They walked past, stopped at the corner and after a small debate on whether they should or shouldn't, they decided to walk past again. As they walked past this time all three looked at once. Natalie's mother and father were still in position but this time Natalie was there, standing above her father, looking straight back at them. She hurried them on with a slight flick of her eyes and they were gone.

By the time they reached the other corner Natalie was out of the house and walking down behind them. She was wearing clothes that shone, light green satin trousers and a frilly dark green satin blouse with platform shoes that weren't quite platform shoes but platform trainers.

Her hair was tied back in a ponytail and she was not wearing a smile. ‘I told you lot not to look in my house. What if my dad sees you?'

It was Martin's job to reply. ‘We couldn't see ya, and anyway we were careful.'

‘You weren't careful, you were all staring into my house as if someone in there owed you money.'

‘Come on, take it easy, you know I love you.'

‘Love what? Where are we going then?'

Martin looked at Matthew, Matthew looked at Mark then all three looked at Natalie and shrugged their shoulders. Natalie raised her voice. ‘Hope you
ain't brought me out here to walk the streets.'

‘No way, I wouldn't let my girl walk the streets all night. We just gonna walk to kill a bit of time, then we going to a nice club where you will be wined and dined, man.'

‘Man, why do you always say “man”?' said Natalie. ‘If you're a man, that means I'm a woman and even so, I ain't YOUR woman, I am me.'

Mark tried to lighten the conversation. ‘Yeah, girl power.'

Natalie was abrupt. ‘Shut up, you.'

An outsider would have been fooled but none of them took this conversation seriously. They all laughed out loud and began to walk. The walk was a lazy, slow one; there was no breeze, so after ten minutes on the move the sweat broke out and their clothes began to stick to their skin. They stopped first outside the fried chicken shop on Green Street, but no one wanted to eat.

Mark, Martin and Matthew spotted four boys from Eastmorelands and headed over to say hello. This was not Natalie's scene at all. She knew that she couldn't afford to look timid, so she lifted her shoulders and held her head high as she stood around listening to the boys' small talk.

After a couple of minutes she realised that her every move was being watched by a group of three girls and she couldn't help noticing how tough they
looked. All three were wearing dark blue baggy jeans. She was pretty sure they were Londoners born and bred but thought that they could find a job working for the Jamaican tourist board, not simply because of their dark skin but also because of their clothing. One had a T-shirt saying ‘I Love Jamaica'. Another wore a T-shirt that was a Jamaican flag and the third just had a West Ham football shirt on, but she, like the others, was adorned with yellow, black and green bangles, badges and necklaces. Natalie thought they looked good but dangerous.

Natalie shifted nervously. She didn't know quite where to look but she had to put on a front. The other three girls made no attempt to hide the fact that they were on Natalie's case. They began to whisper to each other and smile as they stared at her. Natalie felt illuminated in her green satins and began to wish she had chosen clothes that weren't so loud.
What are they grinning at?
she wondered.
Is it my clothes? My shoes? My hair? Do I look too innocent?
Suddenly the three girls started to walk towards Natalie. Her heart began to race, the palms of her hands began to sweat. She felt like falling apart but she held herself together.

‘You from round here, den?' said the big girl wearing the Jamaican flag.

‘Yeah.'

‘What school yu go to, den?'

‘Eastmorelands.'

‘Yeah, I wanid ta go there but they wouldn't let me, said I had ta go ta Lonsdale Park, said it was nearer. What ya doing here?'

The two other girls continued to look her up and down. Natalie expected trouble and in her mind she cursed the boys for bringing her there and for the way they had got lost in their silly conversation about football and cars.

‘I'm just hanging around with me boyfriend and his mates.'

At this point the girl wearing the West Ham shirt reached into her back pocket. Natalie swallowed hard as the girl pulled out a couple of leaflets. After separating one from the other she handed one to Natalie. ‘Dat's the place to be, check it out, good vibes, good music. Ya like rap?'

Natalie wanted to kick herself. She had completely misread the situation. These girls weren't out for a fight, they wanted to find out if she liked clubbing. They wanted to find out if she was one of them, an Eastender.