by Rashad Salim
I accessed my Facebook account on my phone and checked Mark’s page. There were no recent posts by any of his friends since the store fire. They probably had no idea he was dead. Half way down the page I saw some recent photos he had uploaded of himself with his girlfriend Melanie and another of him with his mother. I felt my eyes well up. I shut the Facebook app and tossed my phone on my bed.
I curled up in bed and let the fact sink in that I was never going to see Mark again.
It was around midday when I left Binford police station with no place in mind to go next.
I had explained everything about the night before to DC Barker and DI Martin as best as I could. I felt like shit saying it out aloud about how I had persuaded Mark to swap shifts with me. The subtext had been obvious to both detectives but they didn’t pounce on me for it the way I thought they would. They took it easy on me and let me leave after half an hour after I met them.
I had made regular visits to see my parents at our family home in Binford, almost on a monthly basis over the last six years but I hadn’t met anyone else during this time.
This was because whenever I did return to Binford to see my parents I went straight from the train station to our family home a few blocks away and then straight back to the station. And I had managed to do all that covertly by taking the backstreets to avoid running into anyone who might know me. Sometimes I even wore hats and sunglasses to avoid being recognised during these visits.
Avoiding most of the town meant I hardly ever saw any other areas during all that time and I didn’t miss it either. I hated my hometown so much that if it wasn’t for my parents I’d never have come back after I escaped all those years ago - that is until I was eventually coerced into taking the post at Binford Lane.
I had chosen to work for Bestco but the decision to work at the new Binford Lane branch was the company’s when they realised I grew up in Binford.
They didn’t leave me much choice in the matter.
I was told it was a good move for my career and it would be good PR for the company by recruiting from the local community. I had fought against the idea and the only reason I accepted the offer was because they had agreed to change it from a permanent move to a temporary move of just the first three months of the store.
To top it off they also gave into my demands to not split up me and Mark and reassign him with me to the Binford store too, something that will haunt me for the rest of my life.
I had only worked at the store for one day before it was attacked – before it had been opened for the public – and even then I had vowed to avoid walking around on Binford Lane and most of the town as much as possible. I had told myself I may have to work in the town for three months but I wasn’t going to reacquaint myself with the local area or let anyone get to know me. As far as I was concerned, my return to Binford was a strictly business move and after the three months were over, I’d move on as if the Binford position had never happened.
But now that the store was destroyed and Mark was dead the idea of playing it safe by avoiding everything felt stupid. So I thought to hell with it - I’d go for a walk and finally check out the old neighbourhood to see what I had missed.
The town had changed over the years. New shops - mostly fast food outlets, charity shops and betting shops - had opened where old shops had gone out of business or moved out to better areas.
When I got to a street corner I was glad to see an off license nearby. I went in and bought a drink and as I was about to walk out an Asian guy my age entered the doorway and blocked my path. I recognised him instantly.
Mustafa. He was an old school friend I hadn’t seen nor spoken to since school ended.
“Ali! Where you been? Thought I’d never see you again.”
I gave him a weak smile and asked him how he was.
“Good! Good! How are you? What you doing here? Where you been all this time? I ain’t seen you since forever.”
I filled him in briefly about university and gave him the standard line about a busy career without naming my company before changing the subject to him. He was a butcher at his uncle’s shop on Binford Lane less than fifty feet away from the Bestco branch.
“You still in touch with Sajid?” he asked.
Sajid.
I hadn’t thought of him in a while. “Nah.”
“He works with his dad now, you know? The corner shop on Kerr Road?”
I shrugged. “Like I said, I’ve been busy. Haven’t been back here in a long time.”
He nodded in agreement. We stood there in an awkward silence for a moment while I tried to think of an excuse to get away.
“Well, take my number and we’ll catch up, okay?”
It was too late to come up with an excuse to not give him my number. It wasn’t that I disliked him – Mustafa was a decent friend from back in the day – I just didn’t want to give my contact details to anyone from my hometown. They all belonged in the past.
I tried not to show my reluctance when we exchanged phone numbers. “I better run. See ya.” We shook hands before I fled hoping he would never call me.
I had walked less than twenty feet before I spotted a young woman watching me from across the street. When I recognised the mixed race girl in her early twenties, I got the shock of my life. I stopped in my tracks and thought my heart would too.
The girl’s name was Chantelle. I hadn’t seen her in six years and believed I’d never see her again until this moment.
We stood there - neither of us spoke or moved - and just watched each other for what seemed much longer than it must have been until she started walking towards me.
I stood there frozen, not knowing what to do or say to her but it didn’t matter because when she reached me I never got a chance to say anything.
She slapped me across the face hard.
I staggered back, reeling from the stinging pain of the slap and when I looked at her I realised I shouldn’t have been so shocked.
The expression on her face said it all.
I had deserved it. If not worse.
4
“Chantelle...”
She stared at me with pure hatred in her eyes and breathed hard. I thought she was going to slap me again or swear at me. Instead, she calmly walked away while I stood there with my hand to my face and watched her leave.
About half a minute later I was still standing there in a daze when I heard someone call me from behind.
I spun around to see Mustafa approaching with shopping bags. We made small talk for a while until I told him I had to dash off to Binford Lane and let it slip that I had to check the Bestco store.
“You gonna join the protest?” he asked.
“What protest?”
“You remember those fundo nutters Defenders of Islam?”
They were a small-time Islamic fundamentalist group who made a lot of noise about every issue for more exposure to their cause. They had a big following in Binford and were another reason I was glad to have left the town behind.
“What about ‘em?”
“I passed them on my way here. They were outside the Bestco store. I heard they were celebrating about it being attacked.”
“What the fuck?”
“Yeah... there’s a rumour going around that they might have done it.”
“You serious?”
“That’s what I heard, why?”
I had to sit down on the pavement to think straight.
“You okay, bruv?”
I waved him off and closed my eyes. I tried to recall Defenders of Islam. From what I remembered, they were always revelling in the damage done to anyone they might have a bone to pick with. The question here was what was their reason for criticising Bestco?
“Ali?”
I opened my eyes. “What’s their beef with Bestco?”
“I dunno, probably the usual shit: they hate the west and all its institutions and can’t resist taking joy in anyone else’s suffering?”
“Right...”
<
br /> “There was one thing. You remember that spokesman of theirs, Farooq?”
“That big mouth always preaching in the town centre with a few others around him?”
“Yeah. That’s him. He was saying how Bestco were gonna burn in hell for eternity and this was just a preview of their afterlife.”
“That motherfucker...!” I felt rage build up deep inside and remembered something from a long time ago.
Years ago, before I started university, Defenders of Islam did a protest in the city outside a department store. They accused the company of being behind some Zionist conspiracy – something to do with contributing funds from company sales to Zionists in Israel or something along the lines of that.
“Musti, you think they were behind the arson attack?”
“Who knows? They probably get up to all kinds of shit no one knows about...”
I was so wound up about Defenders of Islam’s inflammatory shit and the possibility that they were responsible for Mark’s death that my heart was beating fast like I was ready to beat the shit out of them.
“Anyway, how come you’re taking it so personally,” Mustafa said. I hadn’t told him I worked for the company. “...What’s it to you?”
“Everything,” I said and stormed off towards Binford Lane.
Mustafa called me from behind but I ignored him.
I had wanted to get a better look at the damage done to the store since the night before but now I had other urges to satisfy.
Mark had been killed and to me it was as if Defenders of Islam were insulting his tragic death specifically. I wasn’t going to take that shit lying down.
5
Defenders of Islam had set up an elevated platform near the Bestco branch, which was still cordoned off with police tape.
Roughly a dozen members of the political group stood around together, all British Pakistanis and British Bangladeshis dressed in long black robes and wore long beards. Farooq stood on a platform and was preaching to the crowd that had formed nearby.
“Ladies and gentleman,” Farooq boomed. “We are gathered here to mark the downfall of the capitalist institution of the west – the UK’s biggest supermarket tried to move in to one of the biggest ethnic minority communities in the country despite plenty of peaceful protests from locals. And what happened?” Farooq raised his hands in mock bafflement and then pointed towards the remains of the Bestco store. “See for yourselves! Bestco is in ashes and this is a sign of things to come if the company is not careful.”
How could that not be a threat?
Everyone cheered his comments. The sound was much louder than I expected from such an average sized crowd gathered outside.
I moved closer to get a better look.
Farooq was still delivering his sermon when our eyes met. He smiled and I wondered if he knew I was a Bestco employee.
I felt like smacking him across the face.
I tried telling myself I was doing this for Mark but I knew it was bullshit. I was going to pick a fight because I was pissed off and I was going to take it out on these misguided protesters.
I pushed my way through the crowds until there was no one between me and Farooq. He saw me approaching him and stopped smiling.
One of the Defenders of Islam members stepped in my way and stared me down. He was a few inches taller than me, roughly six feet in height and had a well built frame. He glared at me and I got his message: don’t come any closer. I was about to tell him to get out of my way when I heard Farooq say “it’s okay”.
The big man stepped to the side, neither of us breaking eye contact until he was a safe distance away. Only then did I face Farooq.
I could feel the crowds quieten down and it almost felt eerie. I hadn’t given much thought to what I was going to say once I reached him but I hoped I’d make a decent argument once I opened my mouth. I looked at him and said, “You’re full of shit and you’re barking up the wrong tree again!”
The crowds booed and shouted insults at me. For a second I had begun to regret having confronted Farooq but now I was riled up and adamant I wouldn’t leave without giving everyone a piece of my mind.
“Such eloquent words, brother,” Farooq said and clapped in mock applause. “Unfortunately, it is all true and even if some of you people cannot see what is staring right at you it doesn’t mean it is not there.”
“I work for this branch of Bestco!” I blurted out. The crowds began talking amongst themselves all at once and I struggled to be heard over them. “The only mistake they made was giving this town a branch!”
There was no doubt no one here was on my side.
I shook my head. “What is wrong with you people? All we did was try to open a store-”
Someone shouted “shame on you” at me.
“Mark Jones! What about him?” I asked them.
The crowds began to murmur like they had no idea what I was talking about.
“Did he deserve to die?” I looked around at everyone and when I looked at Farooq, he too had nothing to say either.
“Mark Jones was my friend and colleague. He did nothing wrong and he was killed in the fire set by someone!”
The crowd was eerily quiet. I could feel everyone listening to me carefully.
“You wanna be outraged?” I looked at Farooq on the platform. “You wanna talk about justice?” I looked at the crowd. “How about some outrage at the murder of an innocent man? I want his killers brought to justice!”
I walked away in disgust. The crowd began to make noise again and through it all I could make out various insults directed at me. I didn’t hear a single voice in agreement with my comments.
It was a disgrace no one had bothered to mention the arson had been a fucking crime.
Someone tapped my shoulder. I turned and saw a bearded guy named Bilal standing there with two other bearded Pakistani men behind him.
Bilal. The born again Muslim and prominent Defenders of Islam member whose nose I had broken years earlier.
6
“Never thought I’d see you back here.”
“What do you want?” I asked.
“Just wondering how you could be so misguided.”
“Misguided?”
“How can you call yourself a Muslim and be working for these Zionist supporters?”
He said that like he knew what the hell he was talking about and I wondered what went on in the brains of these Defenders of Islam drones.
“Come on,” I said, feeling the anger inside me build up again. “Don’t gimme that shit.”
“You’ve been brainwashed, bruv,” the Defenders of Islam member on Bilal’s right said.
“Obviously,” I said. “I dunno why you pious boys don’t have anything better to do but you lot are barking up the wrong tree here...as always.”
Bilal stepped closer to me. He had balled his fists.
“You’re the one who’s barking up the wrong tree,” he said, “And if you’re not careful you might start something you won’t be able to finish.”
“Is that a threat?”
He didn’t answer so I stepped closer to him. We were inches apart now, having a stare down. “You threatening me, you fundamentalist cunt?”
Bilal’s two friends immediately intervened and tried to stand between me and him. Bilal and I didn’t break eye contact but I could see both his friends glaring at me as they leaned in to me.
“What’s going on here?” someone asked.
Two men were approaching us. DI Martin and DCI Barker.
“I said, what’s going on here?” DC Barker asked. This time he waved his ID badge at us.
“Nothing,” Bilal said. “Just having a debate. That’s all.” He looked at me. “Right?”
“Yeah, we were just having a discussion about Mark’s murder.”
The moment I mentioned Mark, Bilal and his cronies walked away from me and the police officers.
“Can we have a word?” DC Barker asked me.
“About what? I thought you al
ready asked me everything at the police station.”
“Mr Khan,” DI Martin said and stepped closer. “We wanted to tell you that we’ve made some progress in the investigation and thought you might want to know.”
That caught my attention and I felt myself more attentive suddenly.
“You find that out just now?” I said, pointing in the direction where Farooq stood now. “This lot have been talking shit about Bestco for years and now you’re gonna do something about it?”
“We’re not here to talk about them,” DC Barker said.
“What you on about?” I thought it was obvious Defenders of Islam were the main suspects for a crime like this.
DI Martin spoke: “We’ve had eye witness reports from several sources who claim to have seen a pair of young black men fleeing from the scene of the crime immediately after the store was attacked. Both statements from the witnesses match the description of the suspects.”
I remained silent, taking in the information.
“Not to make any premature conclusions, Mr Khan,” DC Barker said. “But this appears to have been an act of gang violence most likely.”
I looked at Farooq and the large crowds that still filled the pavement across the street.
“So unless Defenders of Islam has two young black members who fit that description, the organisation aren’t responsible,” DI Martin said.
“Do you know who the two suspects are?” I asked.
“Not yet,” DC Barker said. “But we’re working on it.” The tone in his voice then changed. “Now if you don’t mind, please try to control yourself and avoid making a scene in public. We don’t need you complicating this case any further.”
I felt deflated. “I don’t understand why a gang would attack the store. We were just a supermarket.”
DI Martin gave DC Barker a look. The younger officer said nothing and walked away towards a car parked nearby and leaned against it, leaving me alone with DI Martin.
