He closed the door again. They set off back to the Tube.
“What’s in the envelope?” Zed asked.
“My destiny.”
“What?”
“Not really.” Parwez laughed but it sounded forced. “Tickets to the games.”
“The Olympics?”
“Yep.”
“You’re joking,” Zed said.
“No.”
“Which event did you get tickets for?”
“The 100 metre finals.”
Zed let out a cry of astonishment. “Really?” Then he huffed. “No way. I’m so easy to fool.”
“Look.” Parwez opened the envelope and showed him a purple and white ticket. Seat 352. Row 30. There were a couple of other tickets in there but Zed couldn’t see the details.
“Wow,” Zed sighed. “That’s amazing.”
Parwez put the envelope in his pocket.
“You lucky thing.” You poor thing. “How did you manage to get that?”
“A reward for doing…good.”
“For Fahid?”
“Yes. One day you might be as fortunate.”
I hope not. “Guess I’ll have to just watch Usain Bolt on the TV.”
“Look for me in the crowd.”
Zed made himself laugh. “Oh yeah, like I can spot you among the thousands watching.”
“You might be surprised.”
No, you will.
Zed changed the subject entirely to chat about what he was going to cook that night. He didn’t want Parwez to end up telling Fahid what they’d talked about.
Zed had to work hard to hide his anxiety around Fahid. He worried Fahid would come up with something he needed him to do at the time Zed had arranged to meet Jackson. Zed behaved perfectly. He did exactly what he was told. He cooked, cleaned, went to the mosque. He also tried very hard to be as invisible as he could.
On Tuesday, Fahid took him to one of his travel agencies. While Fahid sat in the office with the door open, Zed tidied the literature, ran errands, cleaned the staffroom and toilet, and washed the windows. When there was nothing left to do, he curled up on a chair and read the brochures, wondering if he’d ever get to see any of the exotic places he was reading about.
“Have you ever participated in Hajj?” Omar, one of the two travel clerks asked him.
A pilgrimage to Mecca? Zed hadn’t even been out of the country. “No, have you?”
Hawaii looked beautiful and interesting. He’d like to try surfing.
“Not yet.”
Maybe Caspian could teach him.
Zed stifled his groan. He needed to stop thinking about Caspian.
Fahid came out of the office. “Talking about Hajj?”
“Have you been to Mecca?” Zed asked.
“Yes. You must go. In Hajj, we are all equal. It’s the most wonderful experience to kneel before the Kaaba with Muslims of every ethnic group, colour and status, and praise Allah together. Peace be upon Him.”
“One day, inshallah,” Zed said. God willing.
Fahid smiled which was Zed’s intention. No way was Zed ever going to Mecca.
Fahid turned to Omar. “We’re leaving now. Don’t forget to speak to Richard about the tickets.”
Omar nodded. Zed added another name to the list in his head. Jackson had said that any little detail might be important.
“Come on.” Fahid beckoned Zed.
Fahid had driven them there that morning. The travel agency had a small parking area at the rear.
“Did you enjoy yourself today?” Fahid asked as he pulled onto the street.
Not enough to come back tomorrow. “It was okay.”
Fahid’s belly laugh was loud. “What’s the expression? Damned with faint praise. You were bored.”
“A bit.”
“What am I going to do with you?”
Zed didn’t answer. He just hoped Fahid wasn’t thinking of explosives in his future.
“You want to go back to school in September?”
Zed was saved from answering because Fahid took a phone call on hands-free. “Wasim. Whassup?” He laughed. He said the same thing every time he spoke to Wasim on the phone.
“I need you at the house.” Wasim sounded stressed.
“A problem?”
“Parwez is freaking out.”
“On my way.” He ended the call.
“Do you want me to make my own way back?” Zed asked.
Fahid sucked air between his teeth. “No, come with me.”
Zed was torn. He didn’t want to go with Fahid, but he knew this might be a chance to get more information.
“What does jihad mean to you?” Fahid asked.
“A fight against the enemies of Islam. A fight inside yourself to stand against anything that might not let you be a good Muslim.” Zed had prepared that answer.
Fahid glanced at him. “You wage jihad?”
“Don’t we all?” Zed’s heart was trying to beat a way out of his chest. “If enemies of Islam produce the trainers I want to buy, should I refuse to buy them? If enemies of Islam made the food I eat, should I turn it down? How can I always do what’s right? Everything in a Muslim’s life is jihad.” Zed didn’t believe any of that but he’d overheard Wasim saying something similar.
Fahid slapped his hand on Zed’s thigh and Zed jumped.
“You are right, little brother. We fight all the time. I heard an expression—We are screams searching for mouths. Exactly true. This world is a bad place. Teenagers stabbed for no reason. Prostitutes on the streets. Gay men and women marching half-dressed with rainbow banners. Women wearing offensive clothing. Drug addicts everywhere. Haram, haram, haram, haram, haram, haram.”
Fahid fired out the word like a machine gun.
“A beautiful world made terrible by our enemies,” Fahid said. “We have a duty to make it better.”
Zed took a deep breath. “Ah, my Beloved, fill the cup that clears today of past regrets and future fears. Tomorrow? Why, tomorrow I may be myself with yesterday’s seven thousand years.”
Fahid glanced at him. “You quote poetry?”
“Omar Khayyam,” Zed said. Shit. Had he gone too far?
“And what is he saying?” Fahid asked.
“That we should cherish each moment because we don’t know what tomorrow will bring. Live each day as if it’s your last. Find inner peace in order to cope with past mistakes and fear of future wrongs. Life is good. We can make it good.”
“We can.”
But not by blowing up innocent people.
“Do you know the whole poem?” Fahid asked.
“No. My mother used to read it to me.”
“How you must miss her. Can there be anything more tragic for a child than to lose his mother? She converted to the faith before she married, Tamaz told me.”
“She did.”
“Tell me about her.”
“She was a good person. Kind and gentle. She told wonderful stories. She was a brilliant teacher. Children loved her. They bought her presents. Made them for her. She kept them all, even the ones that weren’t very good. She said they’d been made with love and so they were special.” His father had thrown them away after she died.
“Was it hard to share her?”
How could Fahid guess he’d sometimes felt jealous? “She always made time for me and Tamaz.”
“My mother had ten children.”
“Wow, that’s a lot.”
Fahid laughed. “We fought but we loved each other. We drove her mad.”
Now Fahid was talking about himself, Zed let himself relax a little.
“But one day I will be with her in Paradise, God willing. And you will be with yours.”
Zed swallowed hard. But not yet, thank you.
Wasim let them into the house. Zed had only ever been to the door before.
“Why did you bring him?” Wasim snapped.
“Because I like him.” Fahid’s eyes narrowed. “He’s a calming influence.”
“What does he know?”
“Let us see.” Fahid glanced at Zed and his stomach churned.
They went into a lounge with cheap furniture and bright green wallpaper that was peeling away at the top of the walls. Parwez lay curled up on a brown couch. Fahid sat next to him and patted his ankle.
“Do we have to change our plans?” Fahid asked quietly. “Do you no longer believe in jihad?”
“I believe,” Parwez whispered. “But I’m scared.”
“Of course you are scared. All great warriors are scared. The sacrifice is all the greater if you are afraid.”
“I don’t think I want to do this.” Parwez bit his lip.
Zed leaned against the door, wishing he could take Parwez’s side and tell him he didn’t have to do anything. How much should he admit to understanding? Fahid knew he was bright. It was too dangerous to play dumb.
“This is the most important thing you will ever do.” Fahid stared at Parwez intently. “This is your path, your jihad, for the love of Allah, peace be upon Him.”
“I’ve never even done hajj. Shouldn’t I do that first?”
Fahid waved his hand dismissively. “Hajj is a lower level of faith. Action is the highest. You will be doing Allah’s will, peace be upon Him. There is no greater love, no greater sacrifice, no greater reward. There will be no pain. There will only be blissful happiness. Everyone will know of your sacrifice. You will be revered. Your name will be remembered.”
Oh bloody hell. No way could that be misinterpreted. Can I get details?
Zed watched and listened as Fahid pulled Parwez back from the edge and felt guilty for being glad because the alternative might have been him taking Parwez’s place.
Then Fahid turned to look at him and Zed tightened the muscles controlling his bladder.
“Do you see?” he asked Zed.
What is he asking me? If I know what’s happening? “What do you wish me to see?”
“A pure heart. A brave young man. A warrior.” Fahid stared straight at Zed.
“I see a scared guy.” Zed’s heart was racing. “What is he going to do?”
“You know.” Fahid reminded him of a cobra. Zed couldn’t move.
“Jihad,” Zed said. “A suicide attack.”
“Not suicide,” Wasim shouted.
“I’m sorry.” Zed gulped.
“Parwez’s action will strike terror into the hearts of unbelievers,” Fahid said. “He will make his family proud. His mother will smile on him forever. His father will have a son who stands above other sons. This…moment of concern will pass. It was the final test to see if Parwez is worthy and he is. I know this.” He banged his fist against his heart.
Parwez clutched Fahid’s hand.
“You see how brave he is?” Fahid asked.
Zed nodded. “Braver than me.”
“Hear that, little brother?” Fahid pulled Parwez into his arms.
“What are you going to do?” Zed asked. “How—?”
“Not now.” Fahid glared at him and Zed shut up.
Parwez gave a shuddering sigh. “I am ready.”
So was Zed.
Chapter Thirteen
Caspian came around with an awareness that he was not emerging from sleep but from a state of unconsciousness much like he had in the hospital. With that awareness came a blast of pain and a certainty that he was in trouble. He wasn’t lying on his bed but on the floor of his cell. Though still in his boxers and T-shirt. Everything hurt, particularly his head. He could see trainers on feet that he didn’t want to belong to Jason, though he suspected they did. But he couldn’t lift his head any higher and whether it was Jason or not would make little difference to the fact that Caspian couldn’t move.
A foot slammed into his hip and Caspian curled up groaning. Oh Zed. Is this how much it hurt? How could you bear it?
“I don’t got any choice,” Jason said with a moan, then leaned down and punched Caspian in the throat.
Pain and shock ricocheted through Caspian. No air reached his lungs and he doubled up, gulping for breath that didn’t come. Fuck. I’m going to die.
“It’s you or me.” Jason paced across the cell. “Oh for fuck’s sake. I don’t want to do this but I have to.”
Caspian began to crawl toward the emergency call button. To his intense relief, he found he could breathe again. But what the fuck was going on? Jason caught hold of his feet and pulled him away.
“Don’t,” Caspian groaned.
“I told you to just give them to him. Now it’s my fault for not teaching you right.”
This was about Lewis and the fucking cigarettes? A foot slammed into his back. Caspian jack-knifed and howled.
“I have to teach you a lesson. Fucking scream unless you want your face destroyed,” Jason hissed the words into his ear, then dragged something across his stomach.
Caspian rolled over and screamed. Not because he was told to.
It seemed a lifetime before guards bustled in. There was a brief scuffle, then Jason was handcuffed and taken away. Caspian was lying on something wet. Had the fucker pissed on the floor? But when he was turned by a prison officer, Caspian realised he was bleeding and the concern on the man’s face freaked him out.
Next time Caspian opened his eyes, he wanted to be in a hospital. His eyelids fluttered closed.
He woke on a moving trolley. There was a towel draped over him.
“We’re taking you to Healthcare,” a guy said.
So I’m not dying. It was almost disappointing.
The bars on the entrance door were painted in red, blue and yellow. Caspian guessed that was to make it look friendly and welcoming to inmates who’d been attacked for no fucking reason. I gave Lewis the cigarettes. I didn’t snitch.
As he was lifted onto an examination couch, he grunted in pain.
“I’m Doctor Mike Jones. You know where you are?”
“The Dorchester? Please tell me it’s not the Ritz.”
The doctor smiled. “I’m going to check you out.”
He lifted the towel and touched Caspian’s stomach in several places while Caspian winced and clenched his teeth.
“You’ve got a wound dehiscence.”
“And in English?”
“A complication in which a wound ruptures along a surgical incision. Your splenectomy scar has been opened up by a thump or a kick or maybe a knife.”
“A knife,” the guard said.
Caspian’s head swam with pain.
“Right. I’ll stitch you up and do an ultrasound check to exclude any internal injuries.”
The injection of anaesthetic hurt but Caspian guessed that sewing him up would hurt more without it. It didn’t take the doctor long.
Hardly worth the bother,” the prison officer said.
“Sorry my guts aren’t hanging out,” Caspian muttered.
The doctor shot the officer a glance of annoyance, then turned back to Caspian. “It won’t leave a further scar.”
“Good. Didn’t want to discount a career in stripping when I get out.”
He lay still while the doctor examined him, feeling around Caspian’s head, checking his arms, legs, ribs and his eyes.
“I can see you got a kicking. He touch you anywhere else?” the doctor asked.
“You mean did he stick his cock in me? No.”
“Is the pain bad anywhere in particular?”
“My head hurts the most.”
“So what happened?” the doctor asked as he cleaned him up.
“Nothing.”
“Is nothing likely to happen again?”
Caspian bit his lip. “Maybe.”
The doctor turned to a computer, tapped on the keys and tsked. “You’re not long out of hospital. And you’re on remand? Why the hell are you in Mako wing?” He glanced toward the prison officer standing by the door, then looked back at Caspian. “How old are you?”
“Seventeen.”
“He shouldn’t be in that wing,” the doctor snapped.
; The officer shrugged. “I’ll speak to his PO. It’s likely a matter of available accommodation.”
“I’m not sending him back in there. He’s underage and vulnerable. The Senior Officer needs to be informed. There’s grounds for a complaint.”
“I can complain?” Caspian widened his eyes. “The mattresses are really shitty. I wouldn’t let my dog sleep on one, if I had a dog. I’m not keen on the cottage pie and I’d really like Sky TV.”
The prison officer came up to him, “And I’d like to get through the night without you scumbags causing trouble.”
Caspian pressed his lips together.
“What did you do?” the officer asked.
“Nothing.”
“So Jason attacked you for no reason?”
“It was Jason?” Caspian asked. “I had no idea.”
Don’t snitch on your pad mate was another rule. Don’t carve up your pad mate probably wasn’t.
“Do you feel suicidal?” the doctor asked.
“No.” Though only yesterday Jason had helpfully explained how to make a noose from a bedsheet and where to hang it.
“I’ll keep you in Healthcare for a couple of days,” the doctor said. “Do you need painkillers?”
Yes! “No thanks.”
“Hmm. Take these two tablets anyway.”
He helped Caspian sit up and handed him the pills and a glass of water.
“You’ll be in a room on your own but monitored at all times. If you need anything, there’s a button to press. I’ll come and see you first thing in the morning.”
The cell was clean and so was the bed. He was safe in there but the shouting and banging were just as bad. He could trust no one. Don’t forget that.
Imagine a world where trust doesn’t exist
Where you’re told where to walk
How to talk
What to eat
Where to sleep
Imagine a world where everyone hates
Where time has stopped
No place is safe
Where you have no worth
Where you’re all alone
Imagine a world that’s not like this
Missing it hurts.
Fahid shook Zed’s arm. “Wake up, little brother.”
Zed blinked and rolled his shoulders doing his best impersonation of someone waking up. He’d been scared to ask more questions and instead had pretended to sleep and listened.
The Story of Us Page 17