Musician Peaky Saku briefly became a public figure in the aftermath of the fire. In a series of memorable television interviews, he was one of the first locals to suggest that Grenfell’s new cladding – added to the tower in 2016 – had been done on the cheap and largely for cosmetic reasons. "There needs to be more care for human life rather than money," he told reporters.

His encounter with fame has left him feeling raw. Saku always wanted to be recognised for his music, but now he’s not sure he wants to be recognised for anything. After his interviews went viral, people discovered he’d been to private school (something he had never made a secret of) and the online response was vitriolic. On Twitter, there were suggestions he was an impostor, or a government stooge. "They said I was some sort of devil worshipper," a still bewildered Saku says.

If there is one person on the estate who exemplifies the complexity of social identity in 21st-century London, it is this 23-year-old. A working-class man who talks the language of the streets, at the age of 13 Saku took up an academic bursary to Charterhouse school, where boarding fees are £36,774 a year.

He admits he used to be impressed by the school’s moneyed environment, but now has a more balanced perspective. "I can say I’m glad I grew up here as opposed to the other pupils’ houses. In order to succeed, you need drive and resources and opportunity. People who are born with resources and opportunity find it harder to get that drive."

Today, he has asked if we can meet on the Whitstable House landing where he shot the video for his Grenfell tribute song, I Don’t Wanna Go Back; his mother is at home and her nerves have been too affected by the fire for us to talk there. (Like many people I meet, he is intensely private, and asks that there is no mention of the floor he lives on.)

Saku has spent many long hours on this landing with friends, smoking and shooting the breeze. "They make out we’re all bums and criminals, just smoking weed and plotting crime. That’s not true. Sure we’d stand there busting jokes, but if someone walks down with shopping, we’ll open doors for them. Before all of this madness, I would say Whitstable was definitely a good place to live."

Since the fire, however, his feelings have changed. "Even my mum doesn’t feel secure now, living this high." He asks me to try opening the fire door to the landing: "See how hard it is? You’ve got these because people used to slam the old doors. Now they’re too heavy. My mum can’t open them."

Saku tells me the Grenfell fire is not the first tragedy to have struck here. On 31 May 2008, 10-year-old Christian Castano was waving to friends on the ground while leaning against his kitchen window in this tower. Residents had previously complained to the council that the windows were dangerous because they opened at the bottom and locks were faulty. Christian fell 18 floors to his death. Five days later, the London Evening Standard reported: "Residents claim the council had failed to repair the window, which should only have opened a few inches, despite requests." The inquest later reached a verdict of accidental death, the coroner concluding that a restrictor was in place and nobody was to blame.

We are talking in September, nearly three months after the fire, and Saku says life has yet to return to normal. After he appeared on television, locals would stop him in the street. He found it difficult: they seemed to be looking for guidance, but he wasn’t coping himself. Did he know anybody who died in the fire? "There was one older lady who used to look after me. She gave me a card when I was about five, and I’ve still got it. I didn’t take the chance to reconnect with her. You think, there’ll be another day; I’ve got more important things to do. And then something mad happens and it’s like, ‘Oh, that’s that.’"