At one corner, though, two coppers stopped them and asked if they knew anything about certain characters who’d been brought to their attention. They had pictures of faces, and showed them to the small group. All the youngsters with Jordan denied any knowledge of them. Jordan memorised their names: Tyrone Fenton, Jason Cotton and Adam Cotton. He’d heard about the Cotton brothers before, but now he feared they might be involved. This was as serious as it got. He’d expected to be dealing with some small-town drug addicts, not the people in charge.

‘Where you off to?’ the officers asked them.

‘Home.’

‘Where’s that, lads?’

‘Up there.’

They made their way up a stairwell, and Jordan noticed the name of the block: Wordsworth Towers. They approached a door and knocked, being let in after recognition and a quick conversation. The interior was as black as oil, and they were led through a series of further doorways, finally going upstairs to a large room with dozens of people crammed into it. The music was pretty loud and aggressive. Jordan glanced around with a slightly clearer head: he hadn’t taken any substances for a good twenty minutes, and hadn’t been inhaling the ganja properly. There was a moving mass of bodies in front of him, and as his eyes adjusted, he saw that groups were dancing, writhing, singing, smoking and moving together, generally celebrating the freedom from reality that came with a drug-addled brain. Through the smoke and dark he could make out figures in dark corners performing sex acts, seemingly unfazed by the backdrop to their activities. It was illicit, like nothing he’d ever witnessed for real, and it excited him.

The throbbing air simultaneously pressurised and relieved the fluid in his head, and worked to mesmerise him into a rhythm of beating and pulsating. He found himself falling deeper and deeper into the feeling of the moment. His body began to move and he danced against three girls next to him. He caught the eye of one of them and she made it clear that she wanted him. Her hand felt around his back and he sank his head towards hers. She kissed him openly and fully and he felt a thrill race up his body. He closed his eyes and she pressed against him. They moved together as one.

The deep, guttural bass pervaded every other sound as it dropped like a stone, rhythmic and repetitive. The words came in between each steady boom. Electric vibration lingered inside the eardrums, shaking the floor and making people move as one. Boys flicked their hands in synchronicity as a flow of words streamed from their mouths. Most of them knew the words verbatim. Jordan was familiar with the artist playing and could rap along like the others, making him appear more authentic. The words came like bullets and the melody was in the delivery not the music. Everyone mumbled along.