‘Nah, man, we have our own suppliers. Don’t need no Mancs, bruv!’

‘County lines, innit. Should’ve known.’

‘Yeah, you’re the enemy, bruv, we doin’ yuz a favour.’

‘I know, man. Thanks. I’ll come if that’s OK?’

Jordan was allowed to hang around and he knew that was his invitation sorted. He puffed gently on a spliff and made a note to himself to be careful not to get too genuinely high. He needed a clear head so that he could gather information. He’d put into place all the security measures he could think of: he had no ID, no traceable phone – he’d bought a pay-as-you-go – no credit card, and he’d ditched his bus pass. Should anyone be suspicious – which he doubted – the last thing he needed was to be identified and vulnerable in a place like this. By the time he was led through the streets, past the demonstration, the media and the fires to keep them warm, he’d developed an affection for the boys he was with, who’d taken him in so easily. He felt part of a tribe and it gave him a sensation of belonging that he hadn’t known before. He kept checking his pockets for the cash he’d brought with him, just in case he got sloppy, or someone spotted it. He’d stuffed around three hundred quid from his savings account into his various pockets, along with two knives from the kitchen block.

Afternoon turned to night-time quickly at this time of year, and the street lighting on the estate was random. Some of the bulbs were smashed out, and he felt as though he was being led through a maze of underground tunnels, on a top-secret mission. He supposed he was. They relied on their phones sometimes for light, and the ends of their cigarettes or rollies. The smell of weed filled the air and Jordan could feel himself becoming a little intoxicated with the substances he’d put into his system.

‘Fuckin’ pigs.’ One of the boys nodded to the police tape surrounding where Jordan supposed Keira Bradley had died. They’d gone past a few coppers, who’d bizarrely greeted them with a ‘good afternoon, lads’. He was puzzled, because Neil Ormond had promised his dad he was coming down hard on those responsible. Maybe it was the response to the heavy-handed raids of yesterday that had changed their tactics. The police he saw were more interested in keeping the demonstrations calm, rather than in teenagers going to a party.