Naaim continued‚ still staring up at the tube light. ‘She was on the floor‚ crumpled in the footwell. She had her back to me as if she was ashamed. As if it were her fault. I picked up her hijab and handed it to her. It was drenched in beer. Her hands were shaking as she tied it back on and then... and then she turned to me and she gave me this look‚ as though... I hadn’t been there for her... I wanted to hold her in my arms but I knew I had lost the right to ever touch her again.
‘She slowly got to her feet and walked away from me using the back of each seat for support. At the next stop she got off the bus and walked back in the direction of her home.’
‘Have you seen her since?’ I asked before silence consumed the room.
‘I don’t know if that’s a good idea‚’ Tahir said. ‘Her family will help her get through it.’
‘You could drop her a text?’ Zafar suggested.
‘I went to see her this morning.’ Naaim closed his eyes tightly‚ stopping the tears from escaping. ‘I knocked on her door. Her brother opened it. He must have worked out that it was because of me that Ira had walked out the night before and come back late. He was fuming. Their dad appeared behind him‚ demanding to know what I had done‚ said that she hadn’t come out of her room all morning‚ had locked herself in and wouldn’t answer her door. He was waving a key in his hand‚ said he’s going to let himself in and find out for himself.’
Naaim dropped his head‚ his eyes still squeezed shut. He placed his hands on the sides of his head and applied pressure‚ causing his features to scrunch up in the middle of his face.
‘He went upstairs and... I heard him scream... loud... so fucking loud‚ deep‚ guttural. I’ll never forget it. Her brother slammed the door in my face and I could hear his footsteps rushing up the stairs. I walked across the road and stared up at Layla’s window.
‘Through the curtain I could see her hanging from the ceiling. Her body swaying from side to side. Her father and her brother had been too late to save her.’
13
Heathrow Airport: Arrivals
‘Remove your sunglasses.’ The short‚ rotund‚ smug bastard Kafir at Passport Control rudely instructed.
‘Excuse me?’ Pathaan said peering down at him‚ as he slowly ran a hand through his oil-slicked hair. He was fully aware that he would be asked to remove his sunglasses. He was also aware that he should be keeping a low profile‚ especially travelling with a fake passport. But it was the instigator in him that liked to push just that little bit. Especially with Westerners and their lack of manners.
The Immigration Officer cleared his throat‚ forced a smile. ‘Would you mind removing your sunglasses‚ please?’
Pathaan slowly ran his tongue over his teeth‚ enjoying the remnants of the last paan that he had devoured on the plane‚ smiled and then removed his sunglasses. After a long look at the passport and the Hindu name‚ the Immigration Officer handed it back to him.
‘Enjoy your stay‚ Mr Arav.’
Pathaan bristled at being called that‚ but it was necessity. He had already seen a family hauled in for questioning‚ most likely because at least one of them was called Mohammed. He took back his passport and smiled warmly at the Immigration Officer‚ fantasizing about how he would look with a plastic bag wrapped tightly around his fat head‚ gasping‚ praying for mercy as he died painfully at Pathaan’s feet.
Pathaan placed his sunglasses back on‚ picked up his black leather holdall‚ and walked through Terminal 3 arrivals at London’s Heathrow Airport. Final destination: Hounslow.
14
Imy
I had some making up to do. Damn‚ I had some making up to do. Jack was a sensitive soul; it happens when you grow up without your old man. It was the kind of thing that could make you feel like the whole world was against you; the kind of thing that could make you hard as steel. I knew a little something about that.
I was already beyond late when I pulled up outside Khala’s house. So I left the engine running and hoped for a swift extraction.
‘Crazy boy racer‚ what is wrong with you?’ Khala exclaimed. ‘Did you leave gas on? Is your house burning down?’
‘Sorry‚ Khala. I have to be somewhere.’ I kept my foot firmly on the brake and slipped the gear into first.
‘Switch the car off‚ you are wasting petrol.’
‘Khala... Really‚ I have to go.’
‘What is more important than your future? I am sure Shahzad can wait five minutes more. We need to talk.’
‘I’m not seeing Shaz‚ Khala.’
‘Then?’
Rather than explain‚ I stuck the car into neutral and switched off the engine. ‘Okay‚ Khala‚’ I sighed‚ scratching the hell out of the back of my head.
‘Are you using the coconut oil that I gave you for your hair? It will stop all this itching. You look like a homeless person when you scratch your head like that. Have you seen Doctor? You could have nits.’
I couldn’t help but smile. Yes‚ she was frustrating the hell out of me and yes‚ she was overprotective‚ even for an Asian parent‚ but all her annoying qualities were full of love. I dropped my hands and forced them to stay on my lap.
‘So‚’ she said‚ her eyes sparkling. ‘What did you think?’
‘She was alright‚’ I said.
‘Just alright?’
Rukhsana may possibly have been the most perfect girl that I had ever met. Her baby pink embroidered kameez hid her modesty‚ but it also revealed a little untouched paradise. Her lips were full and red and when she broke out of playing the shy Muslim girl and met my eyes‚ they were full of mischief and promise. With a silvery tone‚ she spoke well‚ able to hold her own in a variety of subjects. She moved us with her considered view on the recent Paris attack and made us howl with laughter with a joke about a Pakistani politician that I’d never heard before. The way she moved across the room made me want –
Damn! I was so late.
‘Yes‚ she was... She was cool‚’ I said‚ as precious seconds ticked away.
‘I know what cool means‚ Beta. Your Khala knows!’ She wobbled her head from side to side. ‘She is cool. Okay I will tell them. You like her‚ yes.’
‘She seems nice‚ but it’s early days‚’ I sighed‚ loudly. ‘Just don’t go buying any gold sets yet‚ okay.’
Khala smiled at me as though she had heard something altogether different to what I had told her. I didn’t have the time or the heart to tell her it could never happen. That was a different conversation for a different day. She put her hand on mine‚ wobbled her head again and finally left.
*
Jack probably didn’t know that his mum was at her bedroom window waiting for me. Stephanie probably didn’t know that her son was at his bedroom window‚ waiting for me.
I killed the engine as I parked in the driveway. Jack beamed down at me and left his station at the window. I got out of the car and waved up at Stephanie‚ but her smile wasn’t as bright. I could hear the scrape of a chair being dragged and I knew Jack was pulling it to the front door to give him height so he could remove the safety chain. The door flung open and he flew at me‚ head down‚ arms pumping‚ bare feet against the cold paving‚ I swept him up in my arms and peppered him with kisses.
Over his shoulder‚ Stephanie was leaning against the door frame. In the photo that she had sent me of them both in the makeshift camp‚ her dark hair was curled‚ and she was wearing a turquoise dress. Her hair was now tied back‚ the dress replaced with jeans and a faded Stone Roses T-shirt.
‘How much trouble am I in?’ I whispered to Jack‚ my eyes trained on Stephanie.
‘Mummy went to the hairdressers today and her hair was curly-wurly.’
‘Wow‚ that much‚ huh?’
I carried him inside and kissed Stephanie‚ she turned her head away and my lips grazed her cheek.
‘It’s past his bedtime‚’ she said.
‘Do you mind if I...?’ I asked‚ and she nodded.
>
*
I had just finished reading Dear Zoo under the lamp light in Jack’s camp. He was too in and out of sleep throughout to enjoy it‚ and I cursed myself for making him wait so long for me. I lifted the duvet up to his chest and held him from behind‚ waiting for his breathing to settle.
‘Imy?’ he whispered.
‘Jack‚’ I replied‚ pleased in a way that he was still awake.
‘You know Sammy Murphy from Year two‚ he’s in Mrs Stevens’ class?’
‘Sure‚ what about Sammy Murphy?’ I waited for a response. It seemed as though he was weighing up how to say what was on his mind.
‘His dad never plays with him.’
‘Oh‚ I see.’ My heart fell‚ I could already feel what was coming next. Jack never ever talked about his own father‚ but on occasion he would use a proxy to discuss how he was feeling.
‘He’s always late home and then one day he didn’t come home at all.’
I held him a little tighter‚ my face touched the back of his head‚ and smelt the wave of innocence coming off him. I struggled for a response. He fidgeted a bit and then shifted his body around so he was facing me‚ our noses nearly touching.
‘Do you think that Sammy Murphy’s dad doesn’t love him?’
‘I don’t know‚ Jack‚’ I answered truthfully. ‘But you know I love you‚ right? To infinity and beyond‚ and I’ll always be here for you.’
That was the whole truth. I’d fallen in love hard with Stephanie‚ but I loved Jack with a ferocity that frightened me.
‘I love you too‚’ he said and then scrunched his nose. ‘You smell of Indian food.’
‘Yeah‚ I‚ um... I may have had a kebab or two.’
‘Is that why you were late?’
‘Yes. I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be late again.’
I watched him sleep for a moment and left him with a kiss on his cheek before crawling out of the camp. The kid had tried not to show it‚ but he was disappointed in me for messing up his plans and it damn near broke my heart. I didn’t want to be that person. He’d been through enough heartache with his father.
It was time to buck up my ideas. I’d been happy enough to be smothered by Khala‚ picking up freshly cooked meals that would last me the week‚ having my clothes washed and pressed‚ whilst living it up in that crummy flat that a student would have been ashamed of‚ blowing my not-that-great income on getting wasted with Shaz. And now I had to play the arranged marriage game‚ keep Rukhsana sweet‚ keep Khala sweet‚ keep dodging the consequences of telling them the truth. Making my life more complicated than necessary.
When really‚ all I needed was right here.
*
Stephanie was watching a reality TV show‚ sat on one end of the sofa‚ perched forward with both feet planted on the floor as if she had just sat down and not yet got comfortable. I knew that she would’ve been at the bottom of the stairs listening in on my conversation with Jack. Checking to see how I handled him. I positioned the foot stool in front of her and lifted her legs on to it. I stretched out on the sofa and placed my head on her lap. I looked up at her. She was beautiful at any angle.
‘Let me guess‚’ she said. ‘Your Khala?’
I smiled tightly. She ran her hand through my hair and waited for me to explain. I did‚ the lie coming easy to me. ‘Her arthritis was bad today. Actually it’s been like that for a while now. So I offered to do the weekly shop for her. I did text you.’
‘No‚’ she said‚ confidently‚ as though she’d checked her phone a thousand times. ‘You didn’t.’
I slipped out my phone and scrolled to the text message that I had prepared earlier whilst I was at the Rishta. I frowned at it.
‘What is it?’ she asked of my troubled expression. I showed her the message. ‘You didn’t press send.’
I exhaled as I pressed my forehead and I laid it on‚ lie after lie. ‘I’m so sorry‚ Steph‚ I was off my feet. After the grocery shop‚ she had me disassemble and take some old furniture up to the loft. Then she made me dinner afterwards and I couldn’t not stay. Seriously Steph‚ I thought I texted you.’
We sat in silence for a moment‚ her eyes fixed on the television.
‘Imy‚’ she said.
‘Hmm‚’ I said‚ searching for holes in my lie.
‘You have to tell her.’
‘I know‚’ I said. ‘I will.’
She stood up abruptly and my head slipped off her lap and bounced harmlessly on the seat. I sat up as Stephanie stood over me and I waited for her to let loose.
‘Imy‚ believe me‚ I don’t want to be the kind of girlfriend that questions your every action. I refuse to be one of those women. I fully understand that you have to think about your Khala‚ I know she’s like a mother to you. And‚ trust me‚ I know about your culture. But you can’t hide this‚ us‚ from her any longer. She doesn’t deserve that‚ Imy. We don’t deserve it. We’re not your dirty little secret!’
I opened my mouth‚ she lifted a finger before I could counter.
‘I need to know where this is going. You can’t just pick and choose to play the big family man whenever it suits you. It’s not fair on Jack.’
‘That’s not fair‚ Steph. You know how much I love –’
‘I know‚’ she said‚ her voice loud and abrupt. Her eyes travelled up to the ceiling‚ beyond which Jack slept. She waited for the inevitable.
‘Mummy.’ Jack’s muffled voice came back at her through the baby monitor that she still insisted on using.
‘When are you going to understand?’ she said‚ softly. ‘Love is not enough.’
I heard her tired footsteps padding up the stairs. I looked up at the ceiling and I could just picture her‚ holding Jack in her arms‚ running her fingers down either side of his spine‚ rocking him gently back to sleep.
I inhaled deeply and held it‚ then exhaled. I didn’t know how I could prove to Stephanie just how much she and Jack meant to me. They needed more; I needed to give them more. I needed to commit and show Stephanie what she and Jack truly meant to me.
My eyes moved around the room until they landed on a small ball of play-dough.
I went upstairs and entered Jack’s room. Through the sheets that made up the walls of the camp‚ I could see their joint silhouette. I crouched down and crawled through the makeshift cushioned entrance. Jack smiled at me over Stephanie’s shoulder.
‘Room for one more?’ I said‚ knocking my shoulder on a chair leg and almost bringing down the whole structure. Jack separated himself from his Mum and we all sat‚ legs crossed‚ in a tight triangle within the camp.
I nodded at them both‚ grinning stupidly. They both looked at me with curiosity‚ and then at each other. It wasn’t exactly Paris‚ but I could not care less. The romantic setting of the Eifel Tower had nothing on this beautifully crafted kid’s camp‚ splattered with toys and comic books‚ put together by a five-year-old.
It was the perfect setting.
I winked at Jack and then I took hold of Stephanie’s hand. I dug into the top pocket of my shirt and pulled out a play-dough ring.
‘Stephanie‚’ I said. ‘Will you marry me?’
That night we all moved out of camp and into Stephanie’s bedroom and‚ with Jack in the middle‚ we spent the night there. It was‚ quite possibly‚ the happiest I had ever been.
From downstairs‚ as I was drifting off to sleep‚ I heard my phone alerting me to a notification.
15
Derelict Building Site, South London
Kramer stopped at the entrance of the Portakabin on the old construction site‚ the fluorescent light from the room in front of him blazing into the night. He leaned his bulk against the doorframe and watched silently as two coppers spoke with his partner.
Dean Kramer and Terry ‘The Cherry’ Rose‚ as he was affectionately known‚ had run together since their days with the Millwall Bushwackers‚ a football hooligan firm who’d been particularly
nasty at the height of their powers in the eighties. Dishing out some of the worst ultra-violence during and after matches. Kramer was especially fond of the Millwall Brick‚ a weapon fashioned from newspaper sheets tightly wrapped around coins and soaked in liquid to add weight. A string was attached at the bottom to enable the swing of the Brick‚ and a large nail attached to the top to enable sickening damage.
Kramer was the force‚ whereas Rose had the intelligence – enough to realise that the road they were on would only see them in jail or in a box. So he convinced Kramer to move away and join a movement which shared their beliefs. They were the English Defence League and their primary focus was opposition to what it considered the spread of Islamism in the United Kingdom. They finally had a place in a society that breathed and believed like they did.
It was only when a young off-duty British soldier was murdered in 2013‚ by two Muslims in the streets of South London – in fucking broad daylight – that their association with the EDL had come to an abrupt end. Kramer wanted revenge‚ quick and painful; he wanted to start a riot in the heart of the Muslim Community in Luton and take them down‚ every last one of them.
EDL had planned sixty demonstrations across the country. A lot of noise and not enough action. They had become too big‚ too political‚ too fucking correct. And the result of their demonstrations? Nothing more than a few scuffles against anti-fascist groups. They got their names in the newspapers‚ their numbers soared‚ but not one Muslim paid in blood.
Again‚ Kramer and Rose walked away and started their own group‚ recruiting particularly nasty players from their Bushwacker days‚ as well as like-minded members of rival firms. Rose ran the organisation‚ Kramer recruited. It wasn’t the size of the English Defence League‚ but then with size came exposure.
A young girl wearing a hijab was pushed onto a train track as a tube pulled in at Piccadilly Circus Station. The push was mistimed and her face connected with the side of the moving train‚ leaving her needing facial reconstruction.
At an outdoor five-a-side football pitch in Islington‚ two Muslim community football teams were set upon by two Pit Bull Terriers and a Rottweiler. Four men were savagely mauled.
Homegrown Hero Page 7
