I was pretty certain it was the same bike that I saw outside Silas’ house the night he’d got his arse handed to him on a plate. Did I need to add him to the long list of people who wanted a piece of me? Was it even the same guy? Fuck‚ man‚ what do I know about motorbikes‚ there’s probably a thousand of that model. But that glance as he passed me…
I opened my mouth to mention it to Idris and then closed it again. Silas was dead. According to Idris‚ the cops had concluded it was gang-related. Mentioning it would only muddy the already murky waters.
‘What?’ Idris said‚ still itching for an in. ‘What were you going to say?’
‘Nothing‚’ I said.
‘What’s happening with you‚ Jay?’ He sighed. ‘Do you not see it?’
Hold on to your hats. Here comes Idris.
‘See what?’ I said‚ bored already and approaching frustration.
‘You’ve… you’ve…’
‘I’ve… I’ve… Get on with it‚ Idris.’
‘I’m going to be frank‚ Jay‚’ he said‚ serious tone.
‘Okay‚’ I said‚ bouncing from one radio station to another. ‘Who shall I be?’
‘You can be quiet‚ is who you can be.’ Idris killed the radio.
‘Go on then‚’ I sighed‚ wishing that I had an ejector button so that I could send him flying‚ maybe get stuck in a tree. I laughed to myself.
‘You’re losing it‚ Jay. Ever since your Mum left‚ not even slowly‚ you’ve quickly lost the plot.’
I nodded. He was right‚ I’ll give him that. I’d made some bad decisions.
‘I mean‚ apart from all this business with Silas‚ I don’t even know half the shit you’re up to.’
I side-glanced at him and gave him something that I’d been working on. The one shoulder shrug.
‘For instance‚ that crew from Sutton Mosque that you were hanging out with last year. You must have known at the time that their thinking was…’
‘Was what?’
‘Not ours.’
‘Yeah‚’ I said. ‘I did.’
‘And look at them now. What’s his name? The convert? Dead. Shot dead. That girl. Dead. Shot dead!’
He didn’t mention my friend Parvez. I know he wanted to and maybe I needed to hear it.
‘And Parvez‚’ I said‚ quietly.
Idris nodded. ‘Yeah‚ and Parvez… Do you realise how fucked up that is? God‚ he grew up with us! From what I remember he was on you like a shadow when we were kids.’
Unable to trust my voice. I nodded.
‘It shows‚ right‚ that anybody can be indoctrinated‚’ Idris said.
‘I wasn’t.’
‘You could have been‚ Jay.’
‘I wasn’t.’
‘You just as easily could have been caught up in that attack on Oxford Street.’
I stayed quiet as he judged me from up on his perch. It was a long time due and I know it was coming from a good place‚ but he was doing my head in. Idris didn’t know the full story and it was something that he would never know‚ and by bringing it up he was trying to entice it out of me. No fucking chance.
The traffic opened up‚ and I put my foot down‚ wanting to drop him home and away from me as quickly as possible. Without indicating I slipped out of my lane and attempted to pass the car in front of me‚ but this wasn’t my Beemer‚ and the pick-up wasn’t the same. My Nova struggled and from the other side‚ high beams‚ a heavy hand on the horn‚ a Transit van head on and closing in fast. I jumped on the brake and retreated back into my lane as the horn echoed past.
‘Goddammit‚ Jay‚’ Idris cried.
After the spell of awkward silence that one experiences after a dumb driving move‚ what he said next wound me the fuck up. ‘And now this. The Heston Hall crew! Naaim! Have you not learnt your lesson‚ Jay?’
I gripped the steering wheel tightly with both hands and swung hard to the left. The car bumped and climbed the kerb and I put my foot down on the brake. I wrenched the handbrake up‚ killed the engine and released my seatbelt‚ pulling it away from my body as though it was suffocating me‚ the metal buckle hitting my window with a satisfying clang.
Idris watched me silently as if each move served to validate his point. I reached across and dropped down his visor.
‘Look!’ I snapped at him. ‘Go on‚ look in the mirror.’
‘Jay.’
‘Just look in the fucking mirror.’
‘Alright‚’ he sighed. His eyes turned to the small mirror on the visor.
‘Tell me what you see.’
‘I get what you’re trying to do‚ Jay. But it’s not the same.’
‘Tell me.’
‘I’m not doing this.’ He lifted the visor back into position. ‘This is not about me.’
‘You are doing this.’ I flipped the visor back down. ‘And this is about you.’
Idris looked at me. ‘Bit dramatic all this.’ Then he turned to the mirror. ‘What? What do you want me to say?’
‘Do you see a terrorist looking back at you?’
Idris laughed. It was forced. ‘Hell no!’
‘You’re brown. You’re Muslim. You live in Hounslow‚ a place full of Muslims. You’re sitting in a car with another Muslim‚ one who was linked to a group who carried out a gun attack in the heart of London. By association alone‚ you are linked to those terrorists.’
‘This is stupid.’
‘Shut up. I ain’t done yet. What? You think that because you’re a copper‚ because you like the odd pint down the pub with your white colleagues‚ d’you think that makes you any less of a Muslim?’
Idris lifted the visor back into position. I didn’t flip it back down but I wasn’t finished.
‘When you look in the mirror‚ you may see one thing‚ but believe me the world sees another. Deal with it Idris‚ you’re a Paki. The same as me‚ the same as Zafar‚ Tahir‚ Ira and Naaim. Just because they look a little different‚ think a little different‚ you decide to vilify them. Since when do you get to tell me that I shouldn’t be hanging out with them?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘Fuck you! You were thinking it‚’ I said. He didn’t say anything. He was out.
Idris is my closest friend‚ I love him like a brother‚ but I was beyond disappointed in him. More so I was disappointed in myself. What he had said out loud was precisely what had been going through my mind. Every time they tried to get close to me‚ invite me out‚ I backed away. My involvement last year with Ghurfat-al Mudarris had rewired my brain‚ made me look twice‚ think twice about my own people. It disgusted me. I only started to attend Heston Hall because I desperately wanted to believe that there were moderate Muslims like me‚ but I was surrounded by hijabs‚ and shalwar and kameez‚ and skull caps‚ and people tagging Mashallah and Inshallah at the end of every sentence. It put me on edge. I wasn’t sure what their motive was. I became the product of the media‚ looking for danger where danger did not exist. One harrowing experience and I was so quick to judge.
I now knew better and if they needed me then I’d be there for them.
*
It was two days after Naaim’s mother had passed‚ and only one day since the funeral‚ but looking around his living room‚ it seemed as though Naaim had been without a responsible adult for some time. The curtains were still drawn shut and I was itching to pull them apart so the couple of hours left of daylight would seep in and maybe highlight the fantastic mess that the room was in. It was obvious where Naaim had spent the night‚ the blanket and pillow scrunched up on the sofa. Next to a half eaten banana‚ a black sock hung precariously off the coffee table‚ looking to be reunited with its partner so they could make the journey to the wash basket. The beige carpet had a clear visible damp patch‚ the shape of France. It was faded brown‚ spilt hot chocolate I decided. There was a distinct smell of sweat and feet and something I couldn’t put my finger on. Something fried. I stood just within his living room looki
ng for the cleanest place to sit.
Ira had let me into the house‚ before she disappeared upstairs. I could hear her and Naaim talking in hushed voices‚ so I thought about switching the television on so it didn’t feel like I was eavesdropping. I spotted the remote control‚ it was sitting in a bucket of chicken wing carcasses‚ which solved the mystery of the fried smell. I decided not to touch the remote. Instead I cleared my throat loudly and then felt overly conscious that I was trying to summon them down. To my relief the doorbell buzzed. I waited for either Ira‚ who seemed to have made herself at home‚ or Naaim‚ to come down and answer. They continued to converse in hushed tones. Great! I was already feeling like a spare part‚ now I had a dilemma to face too. Do I answer the door? It’s not my house. It’s not my door! What if it’s Naaim’s father‚ who he can’t stand? I don’t want that shit on me‚ I wouldn’t even like to think about how that would play out.
It rang again‚ around thirty seconds after the first. A short sharp burst‚ as if the visitor didn’t want to appear rude. I didn’t think his father‚ from what I had heard‚ would be so polite‚ so I discounted him. It was probably Tahir or Zafar. I checked the time on my phone. It was approaching seven. Asar prayer would have finished by now‚ and Tahir did say he would come here afterwards.
I walked into the hallway and stood at the bottom of the stairs. I looked up‚ the hushed tones had now turned into hushed bickering. I looked at the front door‚ there was no glass pane or peep hole to determine who was on the other side.
I was over-thinking this. I opened the door.
It wasn’t Tahir or Zafar. It wasn’t Naaim’s father. It wasn’t what I was expecting.
He was white. I don’t know why that would be strange‚ but it just was. He looked to be around Naaim’s age‚ maybe a touch younger. His head shaved close‚ hands tucked tightly into his jean pockets and he was wearing a lightweight blue parka‚ zipped up to his chin.
We looked at each other for a moment before his eyes flitted to the door number and back to me as if he wasn’t sure if he was in the right place.
‘What’s up‚ mate?’ I smiled‚ only because I think he needed to see one.
‘Is… Is…?’
Whilst I waited for him to get the words out‚ I looked over his shoulder to see who he was with. Maybe a parent had dropped him off at the wrong place. He noticed my gaze and whipped his head around pretty sharpish to see what I was looking at.
‘You alright?’ I asked him. He faced back to me‚ eyes wide with fright. ‘Sure you’re in the right place‚ mate?’ His eyes glanced back at the door number and then he gave a quick nod of the head. ‘Are you here to see Naaim?’
‘Yes‚’ he said.
‘You better come in then.’
I stepped out of the way and let him in. I guided him to the living room and told him to make himself comfortable. I left him there and walked into the hallway just as Ira and‚ behind her Naaim‚ reached the bottom of the stairs.
‘Naaim‚ how are you?’ I asked‚ shaking his hand. He was still wearing the same clothes that he wore to the funeral‚ heavily creased as if he had slept in them.
‘Jay‚’ Naaim said. ‘Thanks for coming.’
‘It’s nothing. The others will be here soon.’
‘Nice one‚ Jay. It means a lot to him‚’ Ira said. ‘It’s important to have people around.’
‘Speaking of which‚ I let somebody in. He’s waiting in the living room.’
Naaim glanced at Ira. ‘Who is it‚ Jay?’ Ira asked me. ‘It’s not…’
‘No. Just one of his school friends‚ I think‚ wanting to pay his respects. I don’t think he was at the funeral yesterday.’
Rather than go in and greet the visitor‚ Naaim looked puzzled as though he didn’t have anybody apart from us who cared enough to visit.
‘Could it be somebody from Heston Hall?’ Ira asked.
‘I don’t think so‚’ I replied. He definitely ain’t from Heston Hall. ‘Where’s your toilet?’
‘Upstairs‚ first door on your right‚’ Ira replied.
‘Oh‚ okay.’ I left them standing in the hallway‚ exchanging glances that I could not interpret‚ and as I got to the top of the stairs‚ they started talking in hushed tones again.
I don’t know what was going on. They seemed closer than ever as though they were wallowing in each other’s misery. I locked the toilet door behind me and pulled down the lid and sat on the pot. I didn’t actually have the need to use the toilet‚ I just wanted to find out where Zafar and Tahir were. It would have been rude to pull out my phone downstairs‚ given the situation. I dropped them a text and hoped that they’d arrive soon. In no hurry to go back downstairs‚ I gave myself a moment or two‚ just to gather my thoughts and figure out what I could bring to the table.
I was trying to be a friend to Naaim. I knew what he would be going through‚ that feeling of loss was something that I had experienced when mum left me for a life in Qatar. Obviously it isn’t the same thing; my mum was stepping into a new life whilst his mother was stepping into the afterlife. He was going to struggle. I struggled‚ and I’m older and a little more experienced‚ but that didn’t stop me from going off the rails and being downright self-destructive. So‚ yeah‚ I’d be around‚ pop in from time to time‚ keep him from losing the plot‚ as Idris so poetically put it. Once things settled down‚ I’d take him down to the Treaty Centre and introduce him to Wilko. If he’s going to run a house‚ he should learn to do it on the cheap!
Our friendship won’t be one of going out for a drink‚ or trying our luck on the catwalk of Hounslow High Street. It would be more of a mentor role… No‚ that sounds shit! More like a big brother role… Ha! That sounds shit‚ too. All I knew was‚ if he’d let me‚ I’d be there for him.
I’d have to keep my eye on Ira‚ too. The last thing Naaim needed was her blaming the world attitude in his ear.
My phone buzzed. It was Zafar. He and Tahir were outside looking for a parking spot. I stood up and redundantly pressed the flush‚ washed my hands and made my way downstairs.
I could hear heavy breathing and muffled crying from the living room. I guessed Naaim and the boy I’d let in must have been pretty tight to draw that kind of reaction. I stood at the bottom of the stairs and debated whether to walk back into the room. I pictured them embracing‚ Naaim crying into his shoulder‚ and I didn’t want to interrupt that‚ but the cries were high-pitched‚ remorseful‚ and it didn’t sound like they were coming from Naaim. It would have been weird for one of them to walk out and see me eavesdropping‚ so I tentatively stood at the door and looked in.
Naaim was slumped down on the sofa‚ his breath coming in heavy and hard. Next to him‚ perched on the edge of the sofa‚ was Ira‚ she had an altogether different look on her face. One that I hadn’t seen before. I was used to seeing the laser-beam eyes‚ the snarl and the angst. This expression looked very much like victory. The corner of her lips curled up very slightly‚ her eyes alive and focused on the floor. I took a step into the room and glanced around the door to see what her gaze was fixed on.
The boy. The one I’d let in. On the floor. Curled up in a ball. Body racking as he sobbed and dribbled blood onto the beige carpet.
‘The fuck‚ Ira?’ I screamed as I quickly got down on my knees and helped him up into a sitting position. ‘Shit‚ you alright‚ mate... C’mon‚ on your feet‚ yeah… Ira‚ water.’ She stayed rooted. I looked over at Naaim‚ in his hand he held tightly a Rubik’s Cube‚ the yellow side complete and coated in blood. ‘The fuck happened‚ Ira?!’ I didn’t get an answer. ‘Naaim?’ Nothing. Only the sound of sniffling echoed around the room. ‘Let’s get you out of here‚ mate.’ I grabbed him by the arm and got him to his feet. On the floor was his mobile phone. I picked it up and walked him out of the living room. In between whimpering he kept repeating ‘I’m sorry‚ I’m so sorry‚’ over and over again‚ as though it had been him that had provoked the Rubik’s Cube
attack.
I took him out and sat him down on the stoop. ‘Stay here‚ I’ll get you a glass of water.’ I ran back into the house‚ glancing into the living room as I passed it; Naaim’s head resting on Ira’s shoulder. I ran into the kitchen and searched the cabinets for a clean glass and filled it with water. I tore a few sheets of tissue from the kitchen roll and then‚ remembering the tears and the snot‚ not to mention the deep bloody gash across his upper lip‚ I picked up the whole roll and ran back outside.
He was gone.
Zafar and Tahir were walking down the path towards me‚ smiling and waving. I looked past them just as a H91 bus was leaving the bus stop. The boy was sat at the back. The side of his head was resting on the near-side window. We watched each other until the bus was out of sight.
It wouldn’t be the last that I’d see of him. I still had his phone.
49
Imy
Stephanie opened the front door as I stepped out of the car. It’s not like her‚ the impatience‚ the having to know. It was clear how much this meant to her. How did Khala react? Did I even tell her? Uncertainty was etched on her face‚ but only briefly as I answered it with a smile.
‘Really?’ she said‚ her bare feet meeting me halfway up the drive.
‘She can’t wait to meet you‚’ I said‚ and then she was on me‚ arms around me. ‘She said that we should get married.’ Her fingers gripped my shirt as her hold tightened‚ and I felt like the biggest fool for not being able to bring this joy so much earlier.
‘Listen‚ Steph‚ Shaz wanted to meet tonight at the flat‚’ I said‚ feeling like a fool. ‘But I can stay. We’ve a lot to talk about.’
‘You’ve told Khala‚’ she said‚ stepping back into me‚ hands around my waist. I nodded into her eyes. ‘It’s all I need to know‚ Imy. Go‚ enjoy yourself. Besides‚’ she smiled‚ ‘we’ve got you for the rest of our lives.’
I think‚ for the first time‚ she truly believed that. Once I get the message from Pathaan and fulfil my duty‚ I’ll start to believe it too.
Homegrown Hero Page 22
