Homegrown Hero

by Khurrum Rahman

  A grandfather was attacked walking his seven-year-old grandson home from the Mosque after evening Prayers. He was struck on the head with a blunt object as the assailant sped by on a bicycle. That didn’t kill him. But the fall to the ground‚ the impact of his head against pavement‚ did.

  They called themselves The Second Defence.

  Kramer decided the time had come to make himself seen.

  ‘Everything alright?’ Kramer asked Rose‚ stepping into the Portakabin. The two coppers turned briefly to look at him.

  ‘Dean Kramer‚’ nodded PC Mohammed or Mahmoud or who gives a fuck. The same Paki copper they sent every time there was a hint of a skirmish involving his people.

  Kramer frowned at him‚ taking in the pristine fucking uniform that he should have never been allowed to wear. Kramer didn’t mind though‚ because ever-present with him was the delectable WPC Jenkins. She could wear the uniform for him any time she wanted to.

  ‘I tell you what‚’ Rose said. ‘Why don’t you leave the video behind and I’ll see what I can find out.’

  ‘I can’t do that‚’ PC Mahmoud said. ‘Do you or don’t you know the identity of the three assailants? It’s a simple question.’

  ‘When did this take place?’ Rose asked.

  ‘Yesterday evening‚’ WPC Jenkins replied. ‘Between six and eight.’

  ‘CCTV?’

  ‘Vandalised‚’ PC Mahmoud said‚ growing frustrated. ‘Do you recognise them‚ Rose?’

  ‘Hard to tell‚’ Rose pointed at the laptop screen. The faces had cartoon characters superimposed on them. ‘How’d they do that? It’s pretty clever‚ eh?’ Rose smiled.

  ‘You think that you’re pretty clever‚ don’t you Rose?’ PC Mahmoud took a step closer. ‘An innocent girl took her own life after an unprovoked attack.’

  Kramer felt his blood spike when WPC Jenkins put a placatory hand on the Paki’s arm.

  He couldn’t bear it if they were fucking.

  ‘Rose‚ this belongs to us‚’ WPC Jenkins said‚ slipping the flash drive out of the laptop. ‘But if you want to view it again‚ see if it jogs your memory‚ you can easily find it. It’s plastered all over the internet.’

  ‘Where’d you say this happened?’

  ‘Hounslow.’

  Kramer and Rose glanced at each other and quickly away again. Rose scrunched his nose.

  ‘I don’t know anyone in that part of town. But‚ you know‚ I’ll put the word out.’

  ‘The girl was only sixteen‚’ Jenkins reasoned. ‘Call us if you find anything‚ Rose.’

  ‘Sure‚’ Rose replied. ‘Your number still 999?’

  *

  Kramer guided the officers out of the Portakabin which served as an office‚ and watched them drive out of the old construction site and into the night.

  ‘Did you speak with those lads?’ Rose asked from behind his desk.

  ‘Yeah‚ at the rally yesterday‚ in Hounslow.’

  Rose rubbed his chin. ‘Come round.’ Kramer walked around the desk and watched Rose over his shoulder as he fired open a search engine.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Some girl topped herself‚’ he said‚ as he typed into the search bar Bus - Attack - Muslim.

  ‘Paki?’ Kramer asked.

  ‘Yeah‚ Paki.’

  He got a hit immediately. The video had been removed from the first three links‚ but the fourth had it available in full high definition glory. They both watched the short footage in silence.

  ‘Is it them?’ Rose said‚ as it came to an end.

  ‘Can’t be certain with their faces covered liked that. But‚ yeah‚ judging by the size and the way they’re dressed‚ that could well be Simon Carpenter and Anthony Hanson. This happen last night?’

  Rose nodded.

  ‘Fuck! They don’t hang about. That must have been a few hours after I saw them at the rally‚’ Kramer said. ‘I broke their balls about fucking about at these marches. I think maybe they went too far trying to prove a point.’

  ‘They certainly did that. There was a third person with them – whoever filmed it.’

  ‘Yeah‚’ Kramer nodded. ‘I think I know who that could be.’

  Rose closed the lid of the laptop and drummed his fingers lightly.

  ‘Go find them‚ Kramer. I want the three of them in my office.’

  16

  Jay

  After Heston Hall‚ after hearing Naaim’s story‚ I couldn’t go home‚ not with it ringing around my head. I’d wrongly assumed it was going to be a soppy‚ mixed-relationship-parents-don’t-approve tale. I’d heard many of those before and crap like that did not impress me‚ especially with all the real crap taking place around the world. I was cynical. I had become cynical. The last twelve months had hardened me‚ my experience jolted me awake to the serious threat that Muslims faced every minute of every day.

  ‘Before you ask‚ the answer’s no‚’ Idris said‚ trawling around in my mind. It was alright‚ though‚ I had known Idris long enough to grant him a little room in my head. We were shooting pool in an empty bar in Chiswick and I’d just finished telling him about Layla.

  ‘No what?’ I said‚ bent over the pool table‚ lining up a spectacular double on the black ball when other easier options were available. It was the showman in me.

  ‘C’mon‚ Jay. You want me to find out about the investigation.’

  I shrugged and swung my cue‚ clumsily slicing the white ball and sending it straight into the pocket.

  ‘Shit‚ Jay‚’ Idris spluttered into his Sprite‚ then pulled off the shot that I had just royally screwed up. I dug into my pocket and paid him his dues‚ a two-pound coin.

  ‘Just ask around‚ is all I’m saying.’

  ‘It’s not my department‚ Jay. But‚ yeah‚ there’ll be an inquest into the suicide‚ and if I hear anything‚ I’ll let you know. Seriously though‚ don’t make it your business.’

  ‘I’m not‚’ I said‚ and I wasn’t. And I don’t know why I asked him in the first place.

  ‘C’mon‚ that’s enough pool for the night‚ grab a seat‚ I’ll get ’em in.’ He grinned‚ showing me in the palm of his hand the ten quid in coins that he had liberated from me.

  I slumped down on a stool at the bar and rested my elbows on a drenched bar runner. I swore under my breath as a day’s worth of spilt beer seeped through my sleeves and touched my skin. It was the first fucking time in a long fucking time that I had been that close to alcohol‚ and it was tempting to upgrade my soft drink to something a little harder.

  ‘Here‚’ Idris absent-mindedly plonked down a Fanta in front of me‚ his eyes taking in the barmaid. She smiled easily at him. If he wasn’t my best mate‚ I swear I would hate him.

  ‘Oi‚ Pakistani Ryan Gosling‚’ I said‚ ‘Drink up‚ I wanna get out of here and hit the pillow. I’m shattered.’

  ‘Didn’t you have a day off from work today? Don’t give me that exhausted crap‚ Jay. I’ve been up since before dawn‚’ he said. I sighed and waited for one of his never ending supply of cop tales. ‘We raided a family home today in Feltham‚ three young children under the age of four‚ including a baby girl only six months old. The nursery upstairs‚ where she slept‚ was a fucking treasure trove of Class A drugs. Check this out‚ the sick fuck had… You know what Aptamil is? It’s powdered formula that’s used to make milk for babies‚ right. He had about a dozen of these Aptamil containers all laid out neatly on a shelf. Inside half of them were exactly that‚ powdered milk‚ but the other half…’

  ‘Coke.’

  ‘Yes‚ Jay‚ fucking cocaine.’

  I may have had a day off from work‚ but I did have a scary little run-in in the queue at Wilko’s‚ and then I’d heard Naaim recount a pretty traumatic story. I had a right to be exhausted too. God bless Idris‚ but he could be patronising‚ his cop stories always seemingly aimed at me because of my own drug-dealing past. I love him like a brother‚ but he didn’t half love to strad
dle that high horse as though he was the only one making a difference.

  I once made a difference‚ too‚ but he could never know that. I could never tell him. It would change our friendship into something else‚ and at that moment I just needed a friend.

  ‘The fucked up thing was‚’ he continued‚ ‘what separated the coke from the formula powder was a tiny black dot on the bottom left hand corner of the container. His wife‚ the baby’s mother – who‚ may I add‚ was high at the time of the raid – can you imagine if she’d scooped out a couple spoonsful of coke instead of Aptamil? And fed it to –’

  ‘Yeah‚ alright Idris. I get it.’ I knocked back my Fanta. ‘I don’t do that shit anymore.’

  ‘I know‚ I know‚ I know‚’ he said. ‘I know you don’t.’

  ‘I’m just trying to get by‚ that’s all.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Just seems like these stories are always aimed at me. I was never like that‚ I was small time‚ yeah‚ just a little skunk.’

  ‘I know.’ He sighed.

  ‘And I do have the right to be exhausted too‚ you haven’t got a monopoly on being tired.’ I shrugged my jacket on aggressively‚ just to make a point‚ and walked out of the pool hall and into the car park‚ where I waited for him in my Beemer. I let the purr of the engine cradle me to sleep‚ only to wake up a few minutes later when the door opened and Idris slid into the passenger seat grinning; he was holding up a piece of paper with a phone number.

  ‘Good for you! Shut the fucking door‚ you’re letting the cold in.’

  ‘No high five?’ Idris said‚ his hand held high. I slipped the car into first gear and manoeuvred out. ‘You used to be a lot more fun‚ Jay‚’ he said‚ and for some reason‚ I wanted to cry. ‘This has really affected you… what’s her name again? Lyla?’

  ‘Layla! Fuck‚ Idris. Did you not listen to a word I was saying?’

  ‘Alright mate‚ keep your topi on! And what’s his name?’

  ‘Naaim‚’ I sighed.

  ‘Listen‚ Jay.’ Idris took his time‚ choosing his words carefully. ‘This is going to sound harsh‚ but it’s not your problem.’

  ‘Did I say it was my fucking problem?’ I spat‚ choosing my words without the same care.

  Idris gave me a look and shook his know-it-all head at me. He was right‚ annoyingly he was always right. But I couldn’t get Naaim’s weepy 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.

  17

  Isleworth and Syon School

  ‘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.

  18

  Imy

  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 Khala‚ past a friendship with Shaz‚ and past the love and devotion that I held deeply for Stephanie and Jack‚ and the truth of me is revealed.

  I am a jihadist‚ and I had just been activated.