Homegrown Hero

by Khurrum Rahman

  ‘I’m gonna hit the toilet. Order for me.’ I stood up‚ I had to get away from this conversation. I knew pretty much‚ word for word‚ what he wanted to say to me. I could have written out the script and slapped it on the table in front of him. I didn’t need to hear it.

  I walked downstairs and headed for the men’s. A Paki-looking Paki looked up from his menu and stared my way. A couple of nights ago‚ the paan-chewing freshy also gave me a similar look‚ but I was hesitant to return it. Something in his eyes made me want to keep my distance and look away. But this guy? In his ill-fitting shalwar and kameez combo‚ and his crutches leaning against the table‚ I had no problem with. I returned his look with a well-practised Hounslow look of my own and he quickly looked away.

  Yeah‚ back to your menu‚ mate. I ain’t in the mood for this shit.

  I entered the toilet and stood at the sink‚ looking down into the plug hole‚ trying to place him. I couldn’t. First Freshy at the restaurant the other night‚ and now this fucking guy! Both glared at me as though I’d had a threesome with both their wives.

  Fuck knows! It seemed like‚ these days‚ I don’t even have to try and I make enemies.

  With the absence of a better option‚ I shrugged it off. I turned the cold water on and splashed it in my eyes. I wrenched out a couple of paper towels and dried my face. The cubicle door opened and I glanced up into the sink mirror. A man whose face I could never forget stepped out. He stopped in his tracks and locked eyes with me through the reflection. My stomach performed an Olympian somersault. He approached and stood next to me at the sink‚ turned on the tap. I opened my mouth to speak‚ but those words that I had rehearsed so many times‚ those words of gratitude‚ just wouldn’t come. He turned off the tap and dried his hands. I swallowed‚ cleared my throat.

  ‘You... um...’ The words‚ the fucking words. He concentrated on drying his hands as though he hadn’t heard me. I started again. ‘You were there. You saved my...’ I didn’t even get the chance to finish the sentence as he dropped the paper towels into the waste basket‚ turned his back on me and walked out as though I wasn’t even fucking there.

  For a long minute I stood perfectly still‚ in a stupor‚ as I ran through what had just taken place. I tried to work out his reaction‚ or lack of it. The way he had looked at me before ignoring the fuck out of me. I knew that he’d recognised me.

  47

  Imy

  I had to walk away from Javid. I couldn’t stay and watch him smiling nervously‚ shuffling uncertainly‚ as he struggled to find the words to express his damn gratitude. How could I look him in the eye in the knowledge that the day was fast approaching when I would not hesitate‚ not for a heartbeat‚ to shoot him dead.

  I drove slowly to Khala’s. Traffic allowed me time to untangle my thoughts‚ compartmentalize and put things in order. At the top was my family. I had to tell Khala the truth about Stephanie and Jack.

  Khala never had a bad word to say against England or the English. The majority of her friends are Muslim‚ and she regularly attended Ealing Islamic Centre to listen to lectures and catch up for a chat and a gossip. But there was more to her than that. She loved living in London. She was immensely proud‚ to a fault‚ of the Royal Family. You just had to walk around her home to see that. Princess Diana‚ The Queen and The Queen Mother‚ all present in one form or another‚ all strong powerful females. Just like my Khala.

  When I moved out from her home and into the flat‚ understandably she wasn’t happy‚ but she didn’t let it get her down for long. She joined an evening class at Hounslow College to help her with modern technology‚ so determined was she to keep in touch with me by messaging‚ email and Facetime – as well as the daily phone calls.

  Khala has a way about her‚ an easy charm that naturally attracted people to her. In class she effortlessly made friends that weren’t Muslim‚ that weren’t brown. She would thrive on that‚ dropping names nonchalantly into conversation; Theresa and Penelope‚ or as Khala would call them‚ Teeresa and Plenpee. They had even visited her at her home on occasion‚ where she’d happily hosted and fed them and then boasted proudly about it at the Islamic Centre.

  That was Khala. She adapted and integrated. But‚ bottom line‚ her Muslim values meant more to her than anything else. How she would react when I told her about Stephanie and Jack‚ I didn’t know. I prepared myself for the worst as I pulled up outside Khala’s house. A black E-Class Mercedes‚ private plates‚ was parking outside. I recognised the car and realised that the worst was just about to get even worse.

  I watched from my rear-view mirror as the driver’s door opened. Mr Bashir stepped out. He looked apprehensive‚ as though he would rather be anywhere else. He walked around and open the passenger door. Out stepped Mrs Bashir. Glammed-up in a dark blue Indian suit‚ she adjusted the dupatta on her shoulder and made a face of unbridled disgust‚ probably at having to step on a pavement‚ on a street‚ in a town‚ which was far beneath her. Out stepped Nadeem from the back‚ followed by Kareem. Finally‚ and inevitably‚ with oversized dark sunglasses shading her eyes‚ out stepped Rukhsana.

  They walked the narrow path leading up to the house‚ and I knew two things for certain. One: Khala would have seen them; she spent a lot of time at the kitchen window and her eyes were always peeled for activity. Two: she’d be haphazardly placing any dishes from the sink into the dishwasher‚ out of sight‚ before rushing into the living room‚ de-cluttering and plumping the cushions. Finally‚ she’d dash upstairs to put on her favourite button-up sky-blue cardigan‚ that I’d bought for her on Mother’s Day. She said it made her feel posh because it was from Next.

  I stepped out of the car and jogged the short distance to the house‚ cutting the Bashirs off at the door. Mrs Bashir’s features screwed up as soon as she set eyes on me. No question‚ they were there to pick a fight‚ to make my Khala feel small‚ and I could not have that. My first instinct was to fix her with a glare of my own and tell them to piss off back to their plastic life. But I couldn’t make a scene‚ not on Khala’s doorstep. So instead I said‚ ‘Please. Don’t.’

  Before they could respond‚ the front door swung open and my Khala appeared‚ looking smaller than her five-foot frame‚ but making up for it with a huge smile.

  ‘Aslamalykum!’ Khala’s voice strained‚ her breath a little ragged from running around cleaning the house.

  To prepare for a visit from a family that may end up becoming a relation‚ takes a lot of organisation; it’s a huge deal. For them to turn up unannounced had really set her on edge.

  ‘What a lovely surprise. Please come in.’

  They didn’t return the greeting‚ and I noticed the corner of Khala’s lip twitch‚ but her smile held. I stood to one side as one by one the Bashirs entered. Khala nodded and smiled to each member as they walked past her‚ lovingly rubbing Rukhsana’s arm. She directed them into the living room‚ and asked them to make themselves comfortable. I stood in the hallway‚ trying to calm myself.

  If any one of them tried to belittle my Khala‚ I swear to God‚ the mood I was in...

  Khala motioned for me to come inside‚ her smile momentarily absent‚ her eyes wide as she looked questioningly at me. There wasn’t an answer that I could articulate by just a look or a gesture‚ so I gave her a hug and kissed her on the head‚ before she ushered me into the living room.

  The Bashirs watched me like prey‚ satisfied looks on their faces at what they were about to reveal. Mr and Mrs Bashir had taken the two armchairs either side of the sofa‚ where Nadeem and Kareem sat‚ with Rukhsana between them‚ playing to perfection the role of the overprotective big brothers. I placed two dining chairs‚ so we were sitting facing the Bashirs. Khala sat on the edge of the chair‚ wringing her hands on her lap.

  On any other occasion‚ Khala’s first reaction when she had guests was to offer food and drink‚ and then to bring food and drink regardless of whether they wanted it. However‚ she had read the mood
correctly. This was not a social call. This was far from furthering the Rishta.

  ‘Has he told you yet?’ Mrs Bashir‚ straight into it.

  Khala looked up at me‚ her eyes big and tired. I gave her the smallest of smiles and resisted the urge to reach across and squeeze her hand.

  ‘You see‚’ Mrs Bashir continued‚ ‘Imran has been living a second life. A very cosy second life‚ it would seem. One that he has neglected to inform you of.’ She crossed her legs and rested her arms on the fabric of the armchair. Her moves measured‚ taking a twisted joy from showing us‚ even in our home‚ that she was in control.

  ‘I’m afraid that Imran has not been straight with you‚’ Mr Bashir added‚ his tone a little more respectful‚ though his words equally harsh.

  With her hand flat on the arm of the armchair‚ Mrs Bashir lifted a finger. Mr Bashir shifted uncomfortably in the other armchair. The message was clear and direct: leave it to her. Nadeem and Kareem continued to glare at me. Rukhsana‚ wide eyed and innocent‚ played the victim.

  Khala remained quiet.

  ‘You should know‚ your precious Imran has been lying to you‚’ Mrs Bashir said. ‘Or maybe you were aware of it… Yes‚ now that I think about it‚ it makes perfect sense. What did you think was going to happen‚ that Imran was going to walk into my daughter’s life‚ into our lives and continue to lie to us‚ too? It’s lucky that we found out when we did.’

  ‘Mrs Bashir‚’ I spoke up. It wasn’t fair to leave it to Khala to defend me when she still wasn’t sure what was going on. ‘I was honest with Rukhsana.’

  ‘When I address you‚ Imran‚ you will know about it.’ Mrs Bashir’s finger was back up‚ straight and stern. I wanted to pull it back and hear it break. ‘How dare you talk to me about honesty? You brazenly walk into our house‚ with bad intentions towards my daughter. All the while you are living it up with a gandi gori.’

  Dirty white girl.

  I expected my Khala’s head to whip towards me‚ and silently tear me to shreds. But her eyes weren’t on me. Instead she was focused on a small tangle of hair on the cream rug.

  Mrs Bashir followed Khala’s gaze and she twitched her nose in obvious disapproval. They both lifted their eyes off the tangled hair and their gaze met. I think‚ out of all the dirt that Mrs Bashir was dishing out on me‚ it was that dirt on the cream rug that really pissed Khala off.

  ‘Do you have problem with my home?’ Khala said‚ her delivery slower than usual.

  ‘It’s not my problem‚’ Mrs Bashir sneered. ‘Rest assured‚ my family and I will never set foot in this house ever again. I would like to know what you are going to do about Imran.’

  ‘Do you think you are better than me?’ Khala reached across and took my hand. ‘That your home is better than mine.’

  ‘I don’t think you understand what I am trying to say. Would it be easier if I speak in Urdu?’ Mrs Bashir said‚ condescendingly.

  ‘I understand everything‚ Mrs Bashir.’

  ‘Imran has –’

  ‘I haven’t finished talking. Do not dare int’rupt me in my home. Now I speak and you listen‚’ Khala snapped. It was a side to her that I had never seen before. ‘My Imran has more ’tegrity than your whole family. You are not good enough for him‚ your daughter is not good enough for him. Whatever he has done‚ I will deal with. It is not your business. Who you think you are making faces in my home? Why did you not call before you came‚ rude person!’

  ‘Khala‚’ I said.

  ‘Wait‚ Imran. I not finished. This is my home. In fact...’ Khala got to her feet and strode towards Mrs Bashir. ‘Up‚’ Khala said‚ motioning with her finger. ‘Up!’

  ‘I beg your pardon‚’ Mrs Bashir said. Mr Bashir was already on his feet.

  ‘What is the meaning of this?’ he said‚ nervously.

  ‘You shuttup!’ Khala said and grabbed Mrs Bashir from under her arm and lifted her to her feet.

  Nadeem shot up from the sofa. He was older and bigger than Kareem‚ who had sensibly stayed seated. He stepped towards Khala in an ill-advised defence of his mother. I was in his face before he had the chance to intervene.

  ‘Back off‚’ I said‚ quietly. He stared at me‚ his teeth jutting through his jaw‚ his hands balled. A part of me‚ that part of me‚ wanted him to make a move. He must have seen it in my eyes. He backed off.

  Khala took the armchair that Mrs Bashir had just been evicted from.

  ‘This is my chair‚’ she said. ‘Now‚ is there anything else you want to say about my Imran?’

  ‘I have never been so insulted in my life‚’ Mrs Bashir huffed. ‘I don’t want anything to do with your family.’

  ‘Good‚’ Khala said. ‘Get out of my home.’

  *

  Led by Mrs Bashir‚ and without further word‚ they hurried out‚ awkwardly bumping into each other in the narrow hallway in an attempt to avoid another lashing from Khala. Mr Bashir seemed apologetic‚ but didn’t have the courage to put it into words. I shut the door behind them and took a breath. It was my turn to face my Khala. The mood she was in‚ I didn’t think she’d hold back.

  I entered the living room.

  I noticed the tangled ball of hair had been removed. Khala was sitting in her armchair. I pulled forward the dining chair and sat closer to her.

  ‘Who is she?’

  ‘Khala.’ I wanted to explain in my own way.

  ‘I ask you question.’

  ‘Stephanie.’

  ‘Are you married?’

  ‘No‚ Khala.’

  ‘Is she pregnant?’

  ‘No‚ Khala.’ I cleared my throat. ‘But she does have a son. His name is Jack.’

  ‘Astaghfirulah!’ She closed her eyes and took a breath‚ before asking‚ ‘Is he your son?’

  Jack’s goofy face popped into my head. Yes‚ he was my son.

  ‘No‚ Khala. He’s not my son‚ but we are very close. You’d like him‚ he’s a great kid.’

  ‘How old is… Jack?’

  ‘He’s five.’

  ‘Where is father?’

  ‘He’s not a part of their lives anymore.’

  ‘Tell me about this girl.’

  ‘Khala‚’ I couldn’t help it‚ my face lit up. ‘Stephanie is everything I want from a partner. Intelligent. Caring. Strong. She’s an amazing mother… Like you‚ Khala. She’s just like you‚’ I said‚ realising how true that was.

  She stayed quiet for a minute‚ but‚ not knowing if I had broken her heart‚ it felt longer.

  When she eventually spoke‚ it was Khala who broke my heart.

  ‘I am disappointed in you‚ Imran.’

  ‘I know.’ My head and my heart dropped.

  ‘You don’t know anything. I raised you better than this. You made a stupid choice.’

  ‘Khala‚ I understand your position. Believe me‚ the last thing I ever wanted was to disappoint you… But I cannot walk away from them.’

  ‘Understand my position? You silly boy. That is why I am disappointed? You think that I am so small-minded that I care about what my friends at the Islamic Centre will say?’

  ‘I didn’t want to embarrass you.’

  ‘You know Mrs Hashmi‚ who runs the pharmacy on Vicarage Farm Road? Her son‚ Akthar… He is a gay.’

  ‘Okay. I... I didn’t know that.’

  ‘But she still very proud of him. Akhtar’s boyfriend is Muslim!’

  I laughed. She tried to suppress it‚ but a smile escaped her.

  ‘And you know Mrs Bhatt? She is teacher at Hounslow College.’

  ‘Yes‚ a lecturer. What about her?’

  ‘She married forty years‚ anniversary party last week. I went. I tell you something.’

  ‘Okay. Tell me.’

  ‘They both have lots of boyfriend and girlfriend.’

  ‘Really? They’re swingers?’

  ‘Yes. They are both singers‚’ she said‚ with a head wobble. ‘Mr Prizada was in jail last year‚ and n
ot on business in Spain… Mrs Quereshi likes to have a glass of wine every night. Mrs Akeel from the corner shop sells holiday cigarettes.’

  ‘Duty free cigarettes?’ I made a mental note of that‚ it’d save Shaz a few quid.

  ‘So‚ Imran‚ don’t you ever think that you can embarrass me. I have been through too much and seen too much to worry what our comm’nuty are saying… But‚ I am very disappointed in you because you did not come to me.’

  ‘I’m so sorry‚ Khala… I should have realised. I should have said.’

  ‘I wasted so much time with all the Rishtay‚ met so many families‚ made so much food. And I tell you‚ Imran‚ not one of those girls were good enough for you.’

  ‘Stephanie is‚’

  ‘Girlfriend-boyfriend no good. You should get married soon.’

  I smiled and kneeled down in front of her. ‘I just need your blessing‚ Khala.’

  She placed her hand on top of my head and gave me the blessing that I craved.

  ‘Astaghfirulah.’ She said. ‘Such a hard name to say. Stef’nie.’

  ‘You’ll get used it‚ Khala.’

  ‘Get me the house phone. I have to tell Teeresa and Plenpee.’

  48

  Jay

  Five minutes into dropping Idris home from Nando’s and not a word passed between us. Silence had almost always sat comfortably with us‚ but this time‚ in the confines of my Nova‚ it felt suffocating. I heard a low growl. It could’ve been my hungry belly given that I’d rushed out of Nando’s without eating‚ with Idris hot on my heels. My erratic actions only serving to prove his point‚ that I needed a good fucking talking to.

  I could feel his side-glances‚ his search for an opening. Ignoring him I glanced in the rear-view mirror. The low growl was a few cars behind and gaining quickly. I followed its movement as it got closer‚ black leathers‚ black gloves and a black helmet‚ only slowing and matching my speed as it reached my side. I could’ve reached out of my window and touched his knee. I checked out his bike‚ dull black‚ with red around the rims. I’d seen it before. His head turned towards me‚ I caught a glimpse of myself in the tinted visor of his helmet before he gunned the engine and sped away.