Homegrown Hero. Khurrum Rahman
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face out of my head. What he told us was disturbing enough‚ but it was that look in his eyes. I had seen it before‚ a look of anger and determination. A man hell-bent on retribution. Once upon time‚ not long ago‚ my friend Parvez carried a similar look. It didn’t end well for him. Nor‚ I had to remember‚ did it end well for me.
I would not allow myself to get involved.
‘Lewis? Lewis...? Daniel Lewis!’
‘Here… sir‚’ Daniel gazed through the window. He’d been watching the groundsman on his ride-on lawn mower who was spending his morning lazily cutting the grass‚ not methodically as he should‚ instead making random turns. He should have been going in a straight line to the end of the field‚ a neat turn and a straight line in the opposite direction. It bothered Daniel. At home‚ when he mowed the grass in the back garden‚ that’s how he did it. Straight lines‚ up and down. He even made the same effort for Mr Wilmott‚ his elderly neighbour.
‘It looks very much like you want to be anywhere but here‚ Daniel‚’ said Mr Brick‚ the science teacher‚ as he glanced out of the window to see what was taking Daniel’s attention. ‘Continue as you are‚ and you’ll soon be cutting grass for a living too.’
The rest of the class sniggered‚ a mocking sound that filled the room. They had been waiting‚ wanting to see him taken down a peg or two. Daniel wasn’t liked‚ but the dislike wasn’t harsh. There was no bullying or cruel remarks. It was worse than that. They just simply ignored him. They didn’t like that he didn’t have to make an effort to make them all look intellectually inferior. They didn’t like that he dressed as though he was from another time. Steel cap boots‚ bomber jacket‚ shaved head.
Daniel drifted easily through double science‚ and then ate on his own in the canteen. He was a few months in at Isleworth & Syon School. His father had moved him away from St Marks. He saw potential‚ the teachers at St Marks saw potential‚ but the company that he kept outside of school saw an altogether different potential. His grades slipped from A’s to B’s to C’s‚ around the same time that he started to skip class‚ instead spending time getting drunk on the cheap down Lampton Park with Simon Carpenter and Anthony Hanson‚ who were both a few years older.
Daniel’s father had suffered greatly the last year‚ losing his wife in a senseless car accident. Daniel had suffered more. He had been close to his mother‚ a friend-like quality they shared‚ the result of being an only child. His father tried desperately to replace that closeness‚ but it was inevitable that Daniel‚ at sixteen‚ would react. And react he did. The regular phone calls from school‚ the truancy. The odd visit to the police station for the odd shoplifting spree‚ all whilst preparing for – as had been drilled into him – the most important exams to date.
People fear intelligence‚ his mother had repeatedly told him. It hadn’t made him feel any better. He was desperate to be liked‚ to be a member of a group‚ or a crew.
These days‚ he was a member of a gang.
They even had a uniform. Bomber jackets‚ black jeans and cherry Dr. Marten boots.
Just because his father had moved him to a different school‚ it didn’t stop him from seeing his only friends.
Simon and Anthony liked him‚ genuinely liked him. They said he was funny‚ and around them he was funny. It was no secret that Daniel’s new friends did not like the colour brown. Especially if that colour brown happened to be a Muslim. The word Paki was spoken frequently. It had made him uncomfortable at first‚ but he soon realised that Pakis were doing a lot fucking worse than name calling. His friends made him realise that this was their country‚ that this was their England‚ and if others wanted to live here‚ then they’d better fucking abide by their rules.
They made valid points‚ Simon and Anthony‚ and were able to argue them with a deep passion and intensity. What they lacked in academic intelligence‚ they made up in street smarts. He was learning from them.
Daniel fitted in easily‚ no longer scared to skip the odd class and stroll on down to Lampton Park‚ where Simon and Anthony spent most of their days. He would join them‚ drink and share a joint‚ as they dissected and discussed the latest stories in the red-top newspapers – whether it was on the importance of a sharp exit from the EU‚ or coverage of the terror attacks that seemed to be a permanent tabloid fixture.
Sometimes they would rile each other up.
Sometimes they went too far.
Like when they’d ripped the head scarf off that girl’s head and poured beer all over her.
Daniel needed to be involved‚ needed to be part of the brotherhood. So he shot the whole thing on his camera phone. But even as he was filming‚ even as he was laughing‚ even when he edited it‚ obscured the faces of his friends‚ and uploaded it to YouTube‚ Daniel knew that he’d made a huge mistake.
I was the first up. Still basking in the high of the woman I loved agreeing to be my wife‚ and careful not to wake up Stephanie and Jack‚ I quietly slipped out of bed. Breakfast in bed was the order of the day. I picked up my phone from the living room‚ before heading to the kitchen. The battery had died so I put it on charge and placed it on the worktop as I went about cooking a breakfast fit for my family. As I chopped tomatoes‚ I thought about how this decision was going to force my hand. I would have no choice but to tell Khala the truth and hope that she would accept it. There would be no more Rukhsana‚ nor any other girls for Khala to line up for marriage.
I glanced at my phone‚ it had charged enough for me to check the message that I dimly remembered receiving last night.
*
Fifteen minutes later‚ hash browns‚ fish fingers and tomatoes sat burning in the grill as I sat slumped on the floor with my back against the kitchen cabinet‚ phone in one hand‚ head in the other‚ trying to steady my breathing.
Above my head‚ the smoke alarm began to beep. Jolted from my trance‚ thinking of Stephanie and Jack sleeping upstairs‚ I leapt up and waved a tea towel under the alarm‚ switching off the grill with my other hand. The beeping stopped and‚ slowly‚ I retrieved the three slices of toast from the toaster‚ buttered two and dropped the third into the bin.
I placed the breakfast neatly onto two plates and then onto a tray. The third plate went back into the cupboard. I trudged up the stairs‚ the steps seeming steeper‚ and walls narrower than before. I placed the tray on the side table and watched them. I wondered if that night we had all shared the same dream‚ that of laughter and unity and bedtime stories and of three becoming one. A fantasy that I was selfish enough to present to them‚ knowing with certainty that I would never be allowed to become that person.
Jack was gently shivering‚ I lifted the duvet‚ tucking it under his chin‚ and kissed him softly on the cheek. I walked around to the other side of the bed and kneeled down in front of Stephanie. Her eyes flickered momentarily and she smiled lazily at me. I whispered that I had to go work. She nodded‚ before sleep found her again. I had to breathe hard to stop the tears; I inhaled deeply in staccato bursts before kissing her gently on the forehead and walking away from them knowing that not only my life‚ but the lives of those that I loved‚ had changed.
Peel back several layers of me‚ past the carefree life that I lived‚ past a loving son to a loving