Take It Back

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Take It Back Page 29

by Kia Abdullah


  ‘Oh, come on, Jodie, don’t cry. We didn’t mean to take Amir’s dick away from you. I’ll give you mine if you want.’

  The other boys fell silent.

  ‘Come on, bruv, you’ve had yours. Tell the little whore that we’re all equals here. What’s yours is mine and what’s mine is Mo’s and what’s Mo’s is Farid’s, right boys?’

  Nervous laughter on film. The camera panned down to the floor then swooped back up to Amir. ‘Keep filming.’ Hassan’s whisper was gleeful. It was clear now that the camera was with Farid. ‘Keep filming but don’t let her see.’

  Hassan strutted over to Jodie. He reached out and stroked her cheek. She recoiled from his touch. ‘Oh, come on, gorgeous. I know I ain’t got pretty green eyes like my boy over there but I have a bigger dick.’

  Amir laughed. ‘You spend a lot of time looking at my dick?’

  ‘Not as much as Jodie!’ he shot back.

  Laughter in the room.

  Hassan had his hand on her head now, his groin in front of her face. She pushed his hand off her but he grabbed her hair. ‘Come on, you white trash whore, you were licking your lips all over Amir’s dick a second ago. Don’t tell me you don’t want more.’

  Farid cleared his throat. ‘Alright, guys, that’s enough now.’

  Hassan laughed. ‘Don’t be such a bore, man. It’s finally your chance to get a bit of pussy.’

  ‘Oh, come on, leave it.’ It was Mo now, his voice high and nervous.

  ‘Shut your mouth, weasel.’ Hassan’s voice was suddenly sharp. ‘Amir, sort them out.’

  The camera jerked as Amir reached out and playfully grabbed Farid. ‘If you’ve got me on film, you’re getting him on film.’ His voice was low but deadly serious.

  Farid’s hands shook as he righted the camera.

  Hassan unzipped and held his erect penis in front of Jodie. ‘Come on, gorgeous, I’ll close my eyes. Just give it a lick.’

  Jodie began to shuffle away, backwards on her knees. He grabbed her by the hair and pushed her to the ground. Suddenly manic, he ripped open her top. ‘Well, what do you know? The freak has amazing tits!’ He pushed his face into her breasts. Then, he tugged at her jeans.

  She started to scream but he silenced her with an arm. Farid moved forward but Amir held him back. ‘Leave it.’

  Hassan wrapped his hand around her neck and, then, he penetrated her, her screams muffled by his second hand. It was several minutes before he pulled out and ejaculated across her face and hair. He stood, sated, and turned to Mo.

  ‘What’s mine is yours, brother.’

  ‘Nah, it’s alright. I don’t want to.’ Mo’s voice was strained.

  Hassan slapped him on the back. ‘Come on, Mo. God knows when you’ll next get a chance. Go on. I’ll put something over her head if it’ll help.’

  Mo’s voice trembled: ‘No, really, I don’t want to.’

  ‘Ah, don’t be a fucking gay boy about it.’ Hassan pushed him towards Jodie. ‘Tell him, Amir.’

  ‘Be a man, Mo, go on. It’s the only chance you’re ever gonna get.’

  ‘Seriously, just have a suck on her breast and it’ll put you in the mood,’ urged Hassan.

  Mo took a few hesitant steps forward. He looked at the camera, then back at Jodie. ‘Aw, look at her man.’

  ‘No, no, don’t look at her; that’s the key.’ Hassan hooted at his own humour.

  Mo walked to her and with all the enthusiasm of a man to the gallows, undid his jeans and climbed on top of her. He rocked back and forth until he too ejaculated over her with a cry.

  The camera shifted positions. It now swung round towards Farid. Hassan had the controls. ‘And now you, Mr Khan.’

  Jodie’s cries could be heard in the background.

  Farid shook his head. ‘No, I don’t want to.’

  ‘Oh, come on, man. Don’t be such a gayer.’ Hassan zoomed into Farid’s face. ‘What? You don’t like women? You prefer to suck on balls?’

  Farid shook his head, his jaw set tight. ‘I’m not doing it.’ He swiped at the camera.

  Hassan dodged him, his hyena-like laugh reverberating across the room. ‘What you gonna do?’

  Farid swiped again, this time making contact. The phone fell to the floor and the screen fell black. The video ended.

  Zara put her head in her hands. Oh, Jodie. She felt a chasm crack open beneath her and started to careen inside, first through a mist of horror at what she had seen on screen, then past the twine of a dozen lies and down to a fog of guilt. She floundered for understanding, lost on a grotesque Escher’s staircase where lies turned into truth, and truth stretched into lies.

  A fragment of conversation ran through her mind: ‘Amir should have defended me. He should have protected me … I couldn’t let him get away with it. He just walked away and left me there.’

  The retch of realisation made her skin turn clammy. Jodie’s desperation to punish Amir had quashed her chance at justice. She had cried wolf about the boy and ruined her credibility in the process.

  Could Zara have changed things? If she had listened a little closer, probed a little further, would Jodie have told the truth? Zara imagined her sense of aloneness and felt her heart constrict. All those words. All the thousands of words they had shared and still they hadn’t shared the truth.

  Zara pushed away her laptop. Ten minutes ago, all of this was over. Jodie was in a new city with the promise of a new life. Did it really make sense to drag her back to this? Zara thought of the fighting and rioting, the violence and vitriol, the headlines, the hate and the maelstrom of utter chaos. Mohammed had offered her vindication but at what cost? How many other lives would be shred in securing it?

  Zara pulled out the USB stick and gripped it hard, its metal bulk cool and heavy in her palm. She breathed deeply to slow her pulse. It would be so easy to just throw it away; to leave things as they were and forget this ever happened. She set down the stick, half on her desk and half hovering above her bin.

  She could contact Jodie and ask her, but maybe it was kinder to not give her the choice. What would Zara want in the same position: to move on and forget, or to return and fight?

  It was twenty minutes before she made a decision. Her left hand traced the shell of the stick, then tipped it over the desk. At the same time, her right hand reached down and pulled her drawer open, the stick falling in with a satisfying thud. She sent Mia a message:

  Call off the press conference and meet me at Artemis House.

  She kicked her drawer shut and leaned back in her chair. ‘Zara the Brave,’ she said beneath her breath. And, then, she smiled.

  Acknowledgments

  First, I must thank Jessica Faust for taking on this beast of a novel and finding the perfect home for it. You are a dreamweaver and I’m inexpressibly grateful to have you in my corner.

  Heartfelt thanks to my editor, Manpreet Grewal, who shaped this novel with a sorcerer’s touch. It wouldn’t be half what it is without you.

  Thank you to James McGowan at BookEnds and to Lisa Milton and the wonderful team at HQ: Janet Aspey, Sophie Calder, Cara Chimirri, Lucy Richardson and Joanna Rose. Thank you also to Georgina Green, Sammy Luton, Fliss Porter and Darren Shoffren and of course the design and production teams who weave magic behind the scenes. A special thank you to HarperCollins Canada. Your enthusiasm for this book has been incredible.

  My boundless gratitude to Lee Adams and Matthew Butt, barrister at Three Raymond Buildings. I am truly astonished by the patience, rigour and generosity with which you answered a hundred of my questions. I hope you will forgive me for any creative license I’ve taken with your meticulous advice. Thank you also to lawyers Gary Broadfield, David Jugnarain, Kate McMahon, Jeremy Rosenberg and Rabinder Sokhi. I am indebted to Annie Rose and Liz Willows. Thank you for sharing your incredibly important work.

  Thank you to Ellie Aldridge, Amit Dhand, Shan Khanom, Kelly Lam, Sathnam Sanghera, Sheeffah Shiraz, Anita Ubhi, Steve Watson, Kevin Wong and Neville Young for helping me ge
t the details right.

  A special thank you to my very first readers for your precious time and feedback: Sami Rahman, David Wagner, Peter Watson and Serena Wong. It’s finally here!

  I’m grateful to my teachers Colin Giles (you always said I’d do this!) and Christopher Talbot for never letting me get complacent.

  Thank you, Geoff and Val Watson, for giving me a quiet place in which to finish this novel. Thank you to Kashif Ali for all the unpaid tech support and to Hiren Joshi for Opal Home for Strays and for always having my back. Thank you, Pogs, for the constant laughs and to my friends Dina Begum, Priya Patel, Ariane Sherine, Rabika Sultana and Serena Wong. Friends are hard to hold onto in your thirties and I’m so grateful for you all.

  Thank you to my sisters Reena, Jay, Shiri, Forida and Shafia for sending love and laughter wherever I am in the world.

  Finally, thank you, Peter Watson, for eight years of silliness and adventure. How improbable have been our lives.

  About the Publisher

  Australia

  HarperCollins Publishers (Australia) Pty. Ltd.

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  Sydney, NSW 2000, Australia

  http://www.harpercollins.com.au

  Canada

  HarperCollins Canada

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  India

  HarperCollins India

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  http://www.harpercollins.co.in

  New Zealand

  HarperCollins Publishers (New Zealand) Limited

  P.O. Box 1

  Auckland, New Zealand

  http://www.harpercollins.co.nz

  United Kingdom

  HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.

  1 London Bridge Street

  London SE1 9GF

  http://www.harpercollins.co.uk

  United States

  HarperCollins Publishers Inc.

  195 Broadway

  New York, NY 10007

  http://www.harpercollins.com

 

 

 


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