It didn’t go unnoticed that they were exchanging discreet glances. They were pacing‚ waiting for the right moment to break it to me. Letting me talk shit as they took my measure. I’ve been here before. I know the game. Had they sensed my frustration at the meetings and decided that I could be‚ what’s the fucking word? Groomed.
‘Anyway‚’ I said‚ cutting myself short. ‘What’s the occasion?’
Tahir smiled at me. ‘Do we need an occasion for friends to meet‚ Brother?’
‘I guess not.’ Friends? I didn’t sign up to be friends.
‘Though there is something that we would like to discuss with you.’
I shifted in my chair. Next to me‚ Zafar did a little shifting himself. The waiter was at our table. Jug in hand. Three pairs of eyes carefully watched the waiter slosh grey water into each glass. I used the time to work out my next move. Give nothing away. Note every last detail. Entice whatever information you can from them and then give it all to Lawrence and MI5 to fuck it all up.
‘We‚ me and Zafar‚ want to speak with you about Ira‚’ Tahir said.
‘Ira? This is about Ira?’ Relief washed over me quickly followed by concern. ‘What’s happened? She alright?’ I glanced to my side at Zafar. He said nothing.
‘Ira is fine‚ Brother‚’ he said. ‘We’re just a little worried about her.’
‘Worried? Why?’
‘She’s getting involved in something that isn’t any of her business.’ Zafar raised his voice a little. Tahir indicated‚ with a placatory hand‚ that maybe he should be the one to explain but Zafar wasn’t having any of it. ‘With all due respect‚ Tahir‚ it was your idea. You said we should listen to him‚ support him. That’s exactly what Ira’s doing… We should have called the police. He’s been acting crazy recently.’
‘He? Who?’ It hit me as soon as the words left my mouth. ‘Naaim?’
‘Yeah‚ Naaim.’ Zafar stood up in a huff. ‘I’m going out for a cigarette. You coming?’ he asked me.
‘I can’t‚’ I said‚ pointing at my stitched neck.
Zafar opened the door. Before stepping out he held the door open for an Asian man. He stepped inside‚ bringing in the cold with him. I checked him out. Dark jeans‚ a crisp white half-sleeved shirt despite the weather‚ and Bata sandals. Typical freshy! Probably gets pulled by the fuzz daily‚ I thought‚ as my eyes travelled over him. I caught him looking back‚ not a glance either‚ gaze totally focused‚ maybe because he was aware that I was silently judging his dress sense. I offered him a canned smile and looked away.
‘You’ll have to forgive Zafar‚’ Tahir said.
‘What’s there to forgive? It’s fine‚’ I said.
‘He and Ira are very close. He’s like a brother to her.’
‘I know‚ man‚’ I nodded. I’d seen them bicker plenty‚ just as siblings would. ‘How’s this related to Naaim?’
‘In your absence‚ Jay‚ Naaim’s behaviour has become… erratic.’
‘Yeah‚’ I wasn’t surprised. Why wasn’t I surprised? I just wasn’t. I’d recognised that look in Naaim’s eyes. One of loss‚ one of revenge.
‘He found one of the three boys that attacked Layla.’
‘How’d he manage that?’
‘Every day he travelled that very same bus‚ that very same route. Waiting. One of them got on. Naaim sat directly behind him.’ Tahir leaned in. ‘He told us that he wanted to put his hands around his neck and strangle the life out of him.’
‘But he didn’t though‚ did he?’
‘No‚ he didn’t.’
I looked away as though there was nothing to worry about‚ as though alarm bells weren’t ringing in my head. Freshy had taken a table in the corner of the restaurant. He’d slipped off his sandals and placed his dirty bare feet on the chair opposite‚ his eyes still boring into mine as he blindly wrapped a paan. Tahir followed my sight and turned to see what I was looking at.
‘Salaam‚ Brother.’ Tahir frowned at him. ‘Do you mind taking your feet off the chair?’
‘Tahir‚ leave it‚’ I said. The man folded then popped the tightly-wrapped paan into his mouth. I could see the black on the soles of his feet and his overgrown toenails from the gaps in between the slats of the chair.
‘You are in a restaurant‚ Brother. Have some respect‚ Brother‚’ Tahir said.
You can Brother as much as you want‚ but Brother ain’t shifting. Freshy didn’t acknowledge Tahir‚ didn’t even look his way‚ because he was still too busy fucking glaring at me. Anyone else‚ and I’m meeting their eyes and getting into it. But this guy‚ besides bad table manners‚ something didn’t sit right with him.
‘Do you know the Brother? Tahir asked.
I shook my head. No Brother of mine. Zafar walked back in‚ bringing with him the sweet smell of cigarettes‚ making me crave one. ‘Ira just called me‚’ he said‚ taking his seat next to me. ‘Wanted to know where I was.’
‘What did you tell her?’ Tahir asked.
‘That we were here. She’ll be down in ten.’ Zafar shrugged. ‘Thought‚ as we’re all here‚ we can talk to her. Jay... Are you in?’
‘In? In what? What’re you talking about?’
‘We’re going to intervene.’
‘Is this what this is? An intervention?’ I snorted. ‘Bit far-fetched‚ this! Look‚ Naaim is angry. Ira is angry. I am! He had a chance to retaliate‚ but didn’t. Doesn’t that show that whatever thoughts he’s having‚ he’s not exactly going to carry it out.’ Even as I was saying it‚ I didn’t quite believe it myself. I just wanted to distance myself from this conversation‚ this situation. ‘Why doesn’t he just tell the police?’
‘Because Ira is right: he’s a Muslim and they’re three white kids! Do you know why he didn’t do anything to that boy on the bus? He wants them all! He wants all three of them and he wants to hurt them. It’s eating him up that he wasn’t able to protect Layla when he had the chance. He feels like he failed her… And you know what‚ he did. He failed her.’
‘That’s not right‚ Brother‚’ Tahir interjected. ‘You were not there.’
‘If I was‚ we wouldn’t be in this situation. He wimped out‚ and now he wants redemption.’
We hadn’t touched our drinks‚ we hadn’t ordered our meal‚ and I couldn’t care less. I’d decided that as soon as the opportunity arose I was making my excuses and walking. To hell with this noise. I ain’t taking on somebody else’s war. Not again. My jaw rhythmically jutted out of my cheek as I ground my teeth‚ holding back the profanity that was never far from my lips. I hadn’t dropped a fuck‚ out of respect to Tahir‚ it wasn’t how I spoke in his company‚ but all I wanted to do was scream until I had exhausted every variation of that fucking word.
I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms. ‘What’s any of this have to do with Ira?’
‘She walks around with a chip on her shoulder‚’ Zafar sighed. ‘Everything bad in her life‚ she puts down to the system. Now she’s in his ear. Trust me‚ them together is asking for trouble.’
‘We just want to talk with her‚’ Tahir said. ‘Young Naaim listens to her. We must ensure that she uses her influence to guide him.’
I rubbed the shit out of both my eyes. This has nothing to do with me. Zafar looked genuinely disappointed as I realised I had said it out loud. I got to my feet and zipped up my jacket‚ that I hadn’t got around to taking off. I had to get away. I had my own mess to sweep up.
The door opened and in walked Ira.
‘I’ve just come from Naaim’s place‚’ she said‚ softly. Zafar and I shared a look. ‘His Mother suffered a heart attack today. She passed away a few hours ago.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that‚’ I said. ‘Look‚ I better get going‚ my throat’s hurting a little. I’ll catch up with you guys.’
Yeah‚ it was a cold reaction‚ but it wasn’t like her Mother had died. If I stayed‚ I was sending out the wrong signals‚ like we were a tight knit group‚ l
ike we can fucking depend on each other. I didn’t ever want to be in that situation again.
I made my way out of the restaurant‚ past where Freshy had been sitting. I hadn’t noticed him leave. I opened the door and the cold air slapped me in the face. I kept my head low as I passed the large restaurant window‚ knowing that they were all looking at me. I fuck‚ fuck‚ fucked under my breath‚ all the way to my car‚ knowing that I’d done the right thing but in the wrong way.
38
Imy
Stephanie would have needed the space and I gave it to her. I drove around aimlessly for a couple of hours before I went back home‚ searching for the perfect lie‚ but I knew that tonight she would only settle for the truth.
‘Steph‚’ I called out. My head poking in the gap between the front door and the door frame. The flimsy safety chain stopping me from entering. ‘Please... Hear me out.’
I waited a moment for her to appear. When she didn’t I considered giving the door a nudge and breaking the chain‚ but Jack was a troubled sleeper and I couldn’t risk waking him.
I closed the door and sat down on the stoop‚ just as I had two years ago.
This three-bedroom semi-detached house had been my first ever viewing‚ and the client had been late. I knew that if they didn’t turn up soon Kumar would lay into me‚ especially since I’d left the client’s contact details back at the office‚ so I’d sat on this very step and waited.
Thirty minutes in and I was ready to give up and face Kumar‚ when a silver Golf pulled haphazardly into the drive‚ stopping just inches away from me. The client stepped out of the car‚ her smart grey suit too creased for the time of the morning. She mouthed an apology to me as she turned to open the back door. I saw the tail of her white blouse not quite tucked into her trousers. She fumbled in the back seat. A small red and white sneaker fell out. She took out an owl rucksack and an orange beaker and placed it on the roof of the car. And then she brought out Jack. A breadstick in each hand. He was two years old at the time.
I picked up the fallen sneaker. ‘Is this yours?’ I smiled at him. He stretched his arms out and attempted to leap from his mother to me.
‘Da-Da?’ Jack babbled‚ to me.
‘Sorry. He says that to every man who shows him a little attention... It’s a long story‚’ Stephanie said‚ smiling away her sadness.
The viewing lasted longer than it should have. I don’t know what it was. A stolen glance. A shared glance. A smile. Neither of us in a hurry to leave.
Afterwards‚ I gave her my contact details. ‘If you’d like another viewing‚ call me‚’ I’d said‚ and then surprised myself by saying‚ ‘Or you can call me anyway.’
*
The front door opened‚ the safety chain still dividing us. In between the gap‚ Stephanie appeared‚ the baby monitor that she still insisted on using gripped in her hand.
‘Is she your wife?’ she asked.
‘Can I come in?’ I said.
‘I asked you a question.’
‘No. She’s not my wife.’
‘Are you together?’
‘No‚ Steph.’
‘Don’t lie to me‚ Imy!’
‘I’m not. Not anymore... I went to break it off with her.’
‘Break it off?’ She took a step back and put her hand to her chest.
‘You don’t understand.’ I rested my head against the door frame and closed my eyes. ‘You’ll never understand.’
‘Make me understand‚’ she said‚ and when I opened my eyes‚ the chain was unhooked and she was standing closer to me. Just the threshold between us.
‘Rukhsana wasn’t the first. My Khala... She’s been arranging them.’ I expelled air. ‘For marriage.’
‘Marriage?’ Stephanie said‚ her voice barely reaching me. ‘We’re engaged‚ Imy.’
‘I know‚ Steph.’
‘We’re supposed to be getting married this year.’
‘I know... I... I know. She... They... mean nothing to me. Each time I make my excuses‚ find a fault and turn them down‚ and resolve to tell Khala about us‚ but no sooner do I do that than another one is lined up. It’s... it’s incessant. Every time‚ the expectation‚ the hope on her face‚ never wavering.’
Stephanie stepped outside‚ closing the door gently behind her‚ and sat on the stoop. I sat down next to her. The baby monitor between us‚ the steady rhythm of Jack’s nasal snoring filling in the silence.
‘You were sat right here‚’ she said‚ ‘when we first met.’
‘I was just thinking about that‚’ I said. ‘You nearly ran me over.’
‘Imy... Make me understand.’
‘My parents... After they died‚ Khala showered me with love. She was the mother that my own never had the chance to be. She turned her life upside down for me. I remember her taking on a second job. She would often say the first job was to feed us and the second was to pay for my wedding. Don’t you see‚ Steph? She’s set a path for me and I don’t know how to step off. It would break her.’
I finally released a breath that I didn’t realise that I was holding. All of a sudden‚ I felt so tired. The truth had exhausted me.
‘I’ve told my parents about you‚’ she said. ‘They weren’t happy. A Muslim‚ was about all they could muster. That and shock. It took them a while to get used to it. But they saw how happy I was. Isn’t that all a parent wants for their child?’
I shook my head. It wasn’t the same. ‘You don’t understand.’
‘You’re right‚ Imy‚’ she said. ‘I don’t understand‚ and maybe I never will. But I know that you understand that what I hold most precious is sleeping upstairs‚ and it has taken him a long time‚ Imy‚ to get to where he is today. No longer is he wetting the bed. No longer are his teachers calling me to tell me that he’s not communicating‚ that he’s just sitting in a corner by himself‚ silently‚ crying all day‚ every damn day. When his father walked‚ he took away a part of that boy. But now.... He’s starting to smile‚ again. To laugh. Do you know who that’s down to?’
I did.
‘You’re worried about upsetting your Khala‚ I get it. I know‚ Imy; I know how much it’s stressing you out‚ more-so since you moved in with us. Since you proposed to me. You haven’t shaved. You barely shower. You’re not sleeping well‚ Imy. Last night I had to remove your hand from your head and hold it in mine‚ before you ripped your skin. Other times‚ your mouth is moving as though you’re having a silent conversation.’
I had finally come clean about Rukhsana‚ about Khala‚ but how could I tell her that my sleep has been punctured with nightmares of Pathaan‚ smiling‚ baring his blood-coated teeth‚ his hands around the throat of my family‚ strangling the life out of them. That I was on edge because I was waiting to be given an instruction to kill.
‘Jack adores you‚ Imy. He loves you. We both do. But I can’t wait around wondering whether or not you are going to do the right thing by us. Me and you... we can’t go on like this. I will not allow men like you‚ like Jack’s father‚ to take Jack apart piece by piece.’ Stephanie stood up and over me. ‘I can’t have this conversation with you again‚ Imy‚ and I can’t decide for you.’
Stephanie walked back into the house leaving the door open.
39
Jay
I ain’t much of a sleeper‚ though not out of choice. I compare it with what soldiers suffer after they return home from battle. Post-traumatic stress disorder. The horrific memory that stays in your head from when you carried your wounded friend over your shoulder to safety‚ in a war that killed your soul. I guess I was suffering from something like that. Maybe a milder version.
I’ve tried to stay positive‚ move forward‚ away from conflict. It wasn’t even my conflict‚ it belonged to another. But yet as hard as I try to get back to a simpler life‚ one without noise and revenge and fucking conflict‚ I can feel myself getting dragged back as though it’s my only purpose.
And now‚ a new
face to freak me the fuck out. I’d never seen that freshy in the restaurant before‚ but he’d looked at me as though he wanted to kiss me or kill me. Hounslow has its fair share of idiots that like to give the stink-eye but this guy gave it some and more‚ as though I’d once wronged him.
I switched on my once-busy phone. Just one text message‚ from Tahir‚ informing me the details of Naaim’s mother’s funeral‚ and saying that they’d be going back to his place after‚ and that I should be there‚ too.
Can’t these people take a fucking hint?
I sighed. Thought of a hundred reasons why I shouldn’t be there. And then I got ready.
*
I don’t quite know if it’s religion or tradition‚ but Muslim funerals have to be arranged immediately after the time of death‚ with the burial taking place the next day. It made me wonder what I would want at my own funeral. I don’t want to it be rushed. I don’t want Mum on the phone to the florist as soon as I’ve taken my last breath. Take your time‚ shed a tear or two. Spend a couple of days talking amongst yourselves about just how great I was! I want a proper Elvis-style casket‚ not a nondescript wooden box. I want a wake – Muslims never have a wake – I want music‚ ’Pac spitting Bury me a G‚ through the speakers‚ as glasses of sweet lassi and cups of masala chai are raised in my name. I want the works.
Not like this.
Sat at the back of Sutton Mosque‚ amidst a handful of wailers. Naaim sat quietly beside the raised wooden casket. He wasn’t crying‚ just rocking back and forth. Ira sat next to him. She wasn’t crying‚ just rocking back and forth. There was a framed photo of his mother sitting on a small table by the coffin. She wore a sorrowful expression‚ as though she was watching her own funeral.
‘Salaam Brother.’ Tahir shook my hand and sat down on the floor next to me‚ followed by Zafar who nodded his greeting and sat on the other side of me. ‘It will mean a lot to Naaim that you came.’
I highly doubt it‚ but nodded anyway.
‘Are you coming to the Quabaristan‚ Jay?’ Zafar asked.
Homegrown Hero Page 17
