Milton waited for him to pause and took the opportunity to clear his throat. “Rutherford?”

He turned and his face broke into a wide, expressive smile. “Hey! It’s the quiet man.”

“How are you?”

“Very good. It’s John, right?”

“Yes, that’s right. Sorry to disturb you. Could I have a word?”

Rutherford nodded. He reached down for a towel and a plastic water bottle and went over to a pew that had been pushed against the wall at the side of the room. He scrubbed his face with the towel and then drank deeply from the bottle.

“This is impressive,” Milton said.

“Thanks. It’s hard work, but we’re doing good. Been here a year this weekend. Don’t know how much longer we’ll be around, though. Ain’t got much more money. The council do us a decent price on the rent, but they’re not giving it away, and I can’t charge the kids much more than I’m charging at the moment. Something has to happen or we won’t be here next time this year.”

“Can anyone join?”

“If they’re prepared to behave and work hard. You got someone in mind?”

“I might have.”

The man took another swig from his bottle. “Who is it?”

“He’s the son of a friend. He’s going off the rails a little. He needs some discipline.”

“He wouldn’t be the first boy like that I’ve had through those doors. We’ve got plenty of youngers who used to run in the gangs.” The man spoke simply, and inexpressively, but his words were freighted with quiet dignity and an unmistakeable authenticity. Milton couldn’t help but be impressed by him. “Which gang is it?”

“I’m not sure. I met some of them in the park last night.”

“That’ll be the LFB, then. London Fields Boys.”

“What are they like?”

“Been around for a long time — they were running around these ends before I went away, so plenty of years now. I remember we had a beef with them on more than one occasions — big fight in the park this one time, we uprooted all these fence posts and chased ‘em off. The members change all the time but they’ve always had a bad reputation. How deep’s your boy involved?”

“Not very, I think. He’s young.”

“If you’ve caught him early, we’ll have a better chance of straightening him out.”

“So you take new members?”

“Always looking for them. Bring your lad along. We’ll see what we can do.”

“Going to the meeting on Tuesday night?”

“Perhaps,” he said.

“Might see you then.”

Milton made his way back to the main road.

He went into the café and took a seat.

“Scrambled eggs with cream, two rashers of bacon and a glass of orange juice,” he said when the girl came to take his order. He was hungry.

He checked his watch. It was a little after eight. The food arrived and he set about it. When he was finished it was a quarter past. He opened the newspaper on the table and read it. There was a short story about the killings in France, but no new details. He skipped ahead, turning the pages and reading until half past eight, and then nine. There was no sign of Elijah. Fair enough, he thought, as he went to settle his bill. He hadn’t expected it to be easy. Getting through to the boy was going to take some time.

17

Little Mark, Kidz and Elijah had met for lunch at the fast food place nearest to the gates of the school. Elijah had hurried out from double science when he received the text from Pops earlier that morning. He was wearing the white shirt, green blazer and black trousers that made up his uniform and he felt stupid as he jogged the last few yards down the road to the arcade. Little Mark was wearing his usual low-slung jeans and windcheater and Kidz was wearing cargo pants and a hoodie.

“You look nice,” they laughed at him as he drew alongside.

“I know,” Elijah said ruefully. “I look stupid.”

“You still going to school?”

“Yeah,” Elijah said. “So?”

“Not saying nothing,” Kidz said, stifling a laugh.

“I don’t go all the time,” he lied.

“What you doing out here anywhere? Thought you’d be in the canteen with all the other little squares?”

“Got a text from Pops. He told me to be here.”

Other kids from school started to arrive. The canteen was only ever half full; everyone preferred to come down here for fried chicken and pizza.

“Had an argument with my Mums this morning,” Little Mark said.

“Let me guess — you ate everything in the house?”

Little Mark grinned. “Nah, bro, I slept right through my alarm.”

“Probably ate that, too.”

“I’m in bed, right, and it’s eight or something and my Mums is shouting at me to get up, says I’m gonna miss school, and this is the first time I realise, right, she still thinks I go to school. I ain’t been for six months.”

“Shows how much she pays attention to you, bro. That’s child abuse, innit? That’s neglect. You ought give that Childline a call.”

The happy laughter paused as they heard the rumbling thump thump thump of the bass. It was audible long before they even saw the car but then the black BMW turned the corner, rolled up to the side of the road and parked.

“Shit, bruv,” Little Mark said. “You know who that is?”

“What’s he doing here?” Kidz said, unable to hide the quiver of nervousness in his voice.

“Who?” Elijah asked.

“You don’t know shit,” Kidz said, sarcastically. “That’s Bizness’s car. You never seen him before?”

Elijah did not answer. He hadn’t, but he didn’t want to admit that in front of the others. He had the new BRAPPPPP! record, and their poster was on the wall of his bedroom, but that all seemed childish now.

The BMW kept its engine running. It was fitted with a powerful sound system, and heavy bass throbbed from the bass bins that had been installed where the boot had been. Elijah looked at the car with wide eyes. He knew it would have cost fifty or sixty thousand, and that was without the cost of the custom paint job, the wheel trims, the sound system and all the other accessories.

The front door of the BMW opened and a man slid out from the driver’s seat. Elijah recognised him immediately. Risky Bizness was tall and slender, a good deal over six feet, his already impressive height accentuated by an unruly afro that added another three or four inches. His face was striking rather than handsome: his nose was crooked, his forehead a little too large, his skin marked with acne scars. His eyebrows, straight and manicured, sat above cold and impenetrable black eyes. He was wearing a thin designer windcheater, black fingerless gloves and his white Nike hi-tops were pristine. He wore two chunky gold rings on his fingers, diamond earrings through the lobes of both ears and a heavy gold chain swung low around his neck.

“Aight, youngers,” he said.

“Aight, Bizness?” Kidz said.

“Which one of you is JaJa?”

Elijah felt his stomach flip. “I am,” he said.

Bizness smiled at him, baring two gold teeth. “Don’t worry, younger, I ain’t gonna bite. I got something I want you to do for me. Get in the car. Won’t take a minute.”

Kidz and Little Mark gawped at that but Elijah did as he was told. The interior of the car was finished in leather and the bass was so loud it throbbed through his kidneys. Bizness got into the car next to him and closed the door. He leant forwards and counter-clockwised the volume so he could speak more easily.

“One of my boys has clocked you, younger. Says you got a lot of fight in you. That right?”

“I don’t know,” he said, trying to stop his voice from trembling.

“He says you do. You hang with Pops’s little crew, right?

“Yeah,” Elijah said, tripping over the word a little.

“Don’t be so nervous — there ain’t no need to be scared of me.”

“I ain’t scared.”

“That’s good,” Bizness grinned, gold teeth glinting in his mouth. “Good to see a younger with a bit about himself. Says to me that that younger could make something of himself, get a bit of a reputation. Reminds me what I used to be like when I was green, like you, before all this.” He brushed his fingers down his clothes and then extended them to encompass the car. “Get me?”