Homegrown Hero. Khurrum Rahman
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thinks she’s better than us.” From behind‚ Layla’s head was wrenched back and her hijab was ripped off and thrown on the floor. Before I could do anything‚ beer was poured over her head. She let go off my hand and tried to stand but she was forced down by her shoulders and then he... he... he forced his tongue in her mouth and then... they just left. And I just sat there.’
Naaim stopped talking. He craned his neck back and stared up at the flickering tube light on the ceiling. The tears had started again‚ running freely down the sides of his face.
‘Motherfuckers‚’ Ira spat‚ shooting to her feet. She was always going to be the first to react. Her face set tight as though she was ready to explode. I gently shook my head at Ira and she sat back down biting back her response. She took Naaim’s hand.
Zafar was leant forward‚ head in hands. Tahir had his hands out in front of him as he silently whispered a prayer.
‘Layla. Is she all right?’ I asked.
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.’
‘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.
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